Rest In Peace
by Questfan
Summary: Milady is finally out of their lives and out of Paris. Athos is trying to put the past behind him, but somehow it isn't that easy. How would he respond if his past sins began to hurt others in ways he could not anticipate or stop? Post Season 1.
1. Chapter 1

Well I don't know about you, but it seems that once a plot bunny takes hold, it must be fed or it gets vicious and attacks! I debated waiting until I had more of this better plotted out, but figured I'd put it out there and see what you think. I think I need to borrow Tom Burke for a bit, but I'm not sure where to find him. He may have gone into hiding when he heard what I was planning! In his absence, comments, feedback and opinions are all welcome. I always finish anything I start, but I'm not sure how quick updates will be posted.

**Rest in Peace**

The morning had begun like so many others before it, although he knew it had been some time since he had been in quite this bad a state. The fact the day before had been his wife's birthday had been enough to send him back into the downwards spiral he had been trying to climb out of. Memories of more joyous occasions had finally been silenced by enough wine. The room reeked of stale alcohol and he looked around with bleary blood-shot eyes. The months since she had left, when he had told her to leave Paris and never return, had been a challenge to navigate. He knew he had made the right choice when he chose clemency over revenge, but the dull ache in his chest had not really left as he had hoped it would. Something had shifted though. He couldn't quite define it; try as he might. His friends had watched closely, while trying to give him the privacy to deal with his grief. Because it was definitely grief that threatened to swallow him whole as he walked away from them that day, after setting Milady free. Even if he had tried to deny it, he could not really fool himself. Or his friends, apparently. They had watched as he had finally tossed aside the locket that held him trapped in the past. If only the chains around his soul could be so easily discarded.

"_Perhaps I was saving myself."_

His own words echoed around his head and he stared at the floor. The bucket he had hauled through the window stared back at him. At least the weather was warm enough that it hadn't frozen over, but he still stared at it in dismay. Perhaps Anne was right. There truly would be no rest for either of them until they were both dead. Even then, he didn't expect much rest. If Aramis was right and there was an afterlife, he deserved his place in Hell. No amount of good deeds could expunge his guilt from this life and he knew he was beyond saving.

Athos sighed as he knelt down on the floor and plunged his head into the bucket. The ritual really was getting old, however it had proven useful more times than he could count.

By the time he was done dressing and felt almost human again, Athos had mostly managed to shake off the hangover-induced maudlin thoughts. His soul may be beyond saving, but as long as he lived, there were still things he could do to bring some measure of atonement in this life.

He strapped on the last of his weapons, placed his hat low over his face and headed for the door. As he opened it, the sunlight assaulted his eyes and he blinked furiously. He looked down to shield his eyes and almost stepped on a folded piece of parchment that had been slipped under his door sometime during the night.

It had no wax seal or identifying mark and he easily flicked it open. The words were written in a neat style that he did not recognise. An icy hand wrapped its fingers around his heart as he read the letter and he looked up and down the street to see who may be watching him. When he couldn't make out anyone who seemed to be even vaguely interested in him, he turned back to the paper in his hand.

_You deserve each other. Your fates are now tied together forever. You will both suffer before you die. Then you may be able to rest in peace._

He stared at the words and felt the weight of the threat in them. What he could not fathom was who had written them. Not many people knew about Anne and those that did would most certainly not be taunting him like this. Only six other people knew of his remission of sentence over his wife. Treville had, of course, expressed concern that she may not honour the agreement. He had ultimately left it in Athos' hands, with an unspoken understanding that if she ever showed her face again, he would take matters further. Athos knew that if she ever came back, he would not need Treville to intervene. He also knew none of his friends would have revealed anything and he knew that Anne herself had nothing to gain by declaring her fugitive status.

Athos quickly crumpled the paper into his fist and shoved it into his pocket, before walking out the door towards the garrison. He was not in the mood for stupid games. His head hurt enough already.

* * *

Aramis watched as Athos stalked into the practice yard. He knew they had left their friend wrapped around a bottle of wine the night before and he winced in sympathy. At least Athos had allowed them to steer him to his room before dismissing them and he knew the man had probably at least had some sleep. Not enough, judging by how low slung his hat was, but they could not force him to take care of himself. He glanced across to Porthos and noted his friend making the same observations. A quick look passed between them, followed by a shared smirk. Aramis chewed slowly on the crust in his hand and watched as Athos made his way to the bench. It was clear their friend was in a mood and experience had shown them the best cure was to wait it out. Something always came up that dragged his attention to his duty and the mood would evaporate. In some ways, Athos was totally predictable.

* * *

D'Artagnan made his way down the cobbled alley and barely avoided colliding with a servant girl as she carried the scraps out of a tavern kitchen. He apologised rather absently and continued his way back towards the garrison. He was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the shadow following along behind him. His hand rested inside his vest and he felt the smoothness of the piece of paper secreted there. He had no idea who had delivered it under his door the night before, but it was unnerving, to say the least. He couldn't define an actual threat, or real reason to be concerned and as he got closer to the garrison, he felt less inclined to share it with anyone. It felt foolish in the light of day to say he was actually bothered by it. It just seemed strange.

_You deserve each other._

He wondered again if somebody was trying to encourage him to try again with Constance. The only ones who knew about her were his friends and they would not be so subtle as to send him an unsigned cryptic note. Her wretched husband would most definitely not have sent it. So who else was there?

Then again, maybe it was a note of condemnation, saying they deserved punishment over their mutual failings. The only person who would have said such a thing was Bonacieux, but he really couldn't see the man having the nerve. After all, he had chosen a coward's way to keep hold of his wife, rather than loving her into staying with him.

If not him, then who? Hence the unease in the pit of his stomach. He had gone for a walk to clear his head, but having found no logical answers, he retraced his steps back to where he knew breakfast would be waiting. And at least two of his friends. He smiled to himself as he wondered if Athos would be gracing them with his presence on such a fine morning.

* * *

The shadow slipped quietly along behind the musketeer while expertly sliding into doorways and gaps in walls. He knew his coin was riding on doing his job well. The pretty lady had said she had use of his skills and had even given him partial upfront payment. That in itself was enough to get his attention and compliance. His hand clasped the coin in his pocket as he watched the tall, dark-haired man nearly run into a serving girl. So far the job was totally boring as the man simply went from one place and back again, without any obvious reason. As he felt the weight of the coin and the promise of more, he decided he didn't care if it was boring. So long as nobody saw him. The musketeer turned into the garrison and he casually continued on his way. Time to find his benefactor and give his report. As boring as it was.

* * *

She watched as the waif ran off down the street. It was far too easy in the filthy back streets of Paris to find hungry children who were eager to make a few coins. The early morning sunshine cast a warm glow over the area. She felt a similar warmth in the core of her being, but it had nothing to do with the sun. The list in her hand looked nothing short of delicious. The piece of parchment contained all of her plans for the next weeks and possibly months. It all depended really on how quickly Athos fell apart. Knowing him as she did, so very intimately, she knew that would take some doing. She smiled as she folded the list and slipped it into her bodice. Next to her heart. It may take some time, but she planned to enjoy every second of it and the warmth crept up to her face.

The man she considered responsible for her downfall, would be brought to his knees.

At her feet.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow! I can't believe the response to just one chapter. Thank you so much! To those who leave guest reviews, I can't reply personally, but I am very grateful. In appreciation of you all, here is the next chapter. Enjoy :-)

**Chapter Two**

D'Artagnan scrambled through his saddlebag, desperately searching for the pouch. He knew it had been there when he had saddled his horse earlier in the day. Treville had handed it to him in the stables and he had safely stowed it in the bag. The strap was secured and he had not had reason to open it since leaving the garrison. So why wasn't it there now?

He emptied everything onto the ground and rifled through it all again. There wasn't exactly a whole lot there for it to be tangled up in, but he felt his insides churning at the thought he had lost a pouch entrusted to his care. He had been so proud to finally achieve his status as a musketeer, but he knew he was still really finding his feet and in many ways, still proving himself. Treville had trusted him with a simple delivery job and he had somehow, in the space of less than an hour, totally messed it up.

He finally scooped up the assorted items from the ground and replaced them into the saddlebag. The pouch was definitely not there. He chewed on his bottom lip as he tried to mentally retrace his steps that morning. He _knew_, with absolute certainty he had placed the pouch in the saddlebag and secured it. So where was it?

While he was contemplating having to turn around and face Treville's wrath at his stupidity, he noticed a horse and rider approaching. His heart sunk as he quickly realised it was Athos. By the time his mentor pulled up alongside him, he could see the scowl on the older man's face.

"Missing something?"

D'Artagnan swallowed down his pride and nodded.

"I put it in … " The words dropped away as he saw Athos pull the pouch out of his own saddlebag.

"I found this sitting on the hitching rail. I thought you may need it. Since your orders this morning were to deliver it to the court." The clipped tone did not rise in volume, but it clearly displayed Athos' annoyance. It was a simple job and should not have required his time or attention.

D'Artagnan bit back the excuse that arose in his mind and knew there was nothing he could say to defend himself. Clearly, he had not put the pouch in the bag as he had thought. By the time he had taken the pouch to its intended recipient and received a dispatch in return, his mind was still trying to work out what he had done. At no point did he remember placing the pouch on the hitching rail. He had walked from Treville's office with the Captain and headed straight for his horse. The new stableboy had helped him gather his tack as he got ready to leave and he had headed directly for the palace. Trying to recount it to Athos and make sense of it was going to be difficult, but he intended to try. Maybe in the process of apologising he could figure it out. Until he got back to his horse and found that Athos had already left.

The sting of his own stupidity made the ride back to the garrison a long one. He held the pouch in his hand, refusing to put it into the saddlebag and risk misplacing it a second time. He had no wish to see that look on Athos' face again. In all the time he had been in Paris, he had been surrounded by good men, but there was only one whose approval he unconsciously sought. He frowned when he rode into the practice yard and found it almost empty. None of his friends were anywhere to be seen. He looked around and finally spotted Athos sitting off to the side, apparently reading something. He slipped off his horse and handed the reins to the new stableboy. In his distracted state of mind he couldn't recall the boy's name, but he nodded as he headed towards the stairs. At least there wouldn't be any problem in getting the return dispatch to where it belonged.

The boy steered the horse into the stable and tied the reins to the hitching rail. He smiled at the anticipation of the coin he would have in his pocket by the end of the day.

* * *

Athos had ridden back to the garrison and been relieved when Treville had sent him out on another short errand. He frowned as he recalled walking into the stables and seeing the dispatch pouch sitting in plain view. He knew d'Artagnan had seemed distracted for the last few days and he had tried to talk to the lad, but this was not acceptable. If that pouch had contained anything of a sensitive nature it could have been devastating for it to be misplaced. He had no idea what it contained, but any missive entrusted to a musketeer was important. D'Artagnan knew that and yet he had been careless enough to leave it behind. The stableboy had pointed it out to Athos and he was grateful the boy had come to him and not Treville. It could have ended a whole lot worse for him otherwise.

By the time he returned to the garrison, he wondered if d'Artagnan would have returned as well or not. Part of him wanted to forget the whole incident as youthful stupidity, but the soldier in him knew that a musketeer could not afford such a lapse. He walked over to the well and slowly pulled up a bucket of water before using the dipper to pour himself a drink. The day was warming up and he wiped a damp hand around the back of his neck. Just as he was about to put the bucket back, he heard a horse entering the courtyard and he turned to look. He half expected it to be d'Artagnan, but noted instead that it was a dispatch messenger. He turned back to what he was doing as the man would be looking for Treville and no doubt knew where his office was already. He was surprised to hear his own name being called and turned again towards the rider.

"I am Athos," he responded as he walked over towards the horse.

"Then this is for you." The man waved something towards him.

He couldn't explain the uneasy feeling that washed over him as he took the piece of parchment from the man. He flipped it open and noted the same writing as the last time.

_You deserve each other. Trust is hard won and easily destroyed. _

He slumped onto a nearby bench and stared at the words. He had trusted Anne with his heart and soul. She had callously walked all over both.

"_I made her what she is. Her murders are on my head."_

He stared at the written words on the paper as he recalled his own words. She had trusted him too and he had failed her.

He was lost in ugly memories as d'Artagnan rode through the gate and headed for Treville's office to drop off his dispatch. He did not notice the young man step out onto the landing a short time later to read the note Treville said had been delivered for him earlier. He also did not see d'Artagnan blanch as he read the contents.

_You deserve each other. Neither of you is worthy of trust._

D'Artagnan felt a mixture of guilt and pain rising up from his stomach and he pushed it down. He had no right to take another man's wife and yet he could not get her out of his head. The distress on Constance's face as he walked away from her for the last time was all his fault. He hung his head and he knew the truth of the words. His father would have been ashamed of him.

Athos finally noted d'Artagnan heading down the stairs and frowned as he saw the look on his face. He shoved the note into his pocket and stood up to go and see what was going on. He was surprised as d'Artagnan stalked past him and headed out into the practice yard. Normally his young friend would have sought him out for sparring, but instead he headed for Denier.

By the time Aramis and Porthos returned to the garrison they could see a sparring match in full swing. Aramis looked across at Porthos as both men had spotted Athos leaning on a post and watching. They passed off their horses to the stableboy and wandered over to watch. D'Artagnan was lunging at Denier, using a new move that Athos had been working on with him. They all knew he had been practicing it incessantly and the hard work was paying off. Except something about it seemed off. Finally Aramis got a good look at d'Artagnan's face and instantly knew what it was. He was angry. That was something that Athos had also been drilling into him. Do not allow your emotions to rule your head. Apparently Athos' lesson had gone out the window today.

Aramis tried to look across at Athos without drawing attention and noted the tightly clenched fists while his face was the picture of calm. For some reason, Athos was angry too! Clearly they had missed something and he looked up to see Porthos eyeing him. The big man had noticed the same problem and had no clue either. He raised an eyebrow in question and Aramis just shrugged.

D'Artagnan lunged again at Denier and watched as the older man sidestepped his thrust. It wasn't the same as sparring with Athos, but Denier was an experienced soldier and was giving him a run for his money. The cheers and comments from those around them were not registering as the only thing he could hear was the pounding of his own heart. By the time the two of them called a mutual draw and pulled up swords, d'Artagnan was left feeling empty. He nodded towards Denier in acknowledgement before turning for the well. He ignored the looks from his friends as he walked past them and pulled up a bucket. He still wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to Athos and his mind was still processing through the letter.

Aramis appeared at his elbow and nodded towards the water bucket. D'Artagnan handed him the dipper and leaned against the edge of the well.

"You've clearly been practicing that move. Athos should be impressed."

D'Artagnan felt the gnawing in his chest at his friend's intended compliment. He barely managed to nod, but did not trust himself to speak. Athos was currently anything but impressed with him.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for your reviews, messages and favourites. Very much appreciated. For those wondering about Jacques - I'm getting there. All will be revealed in due time.

**Chapter Three  
**

D'Artagnan lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The faint light from the moon, high outside the window, cast strange shadows across the ceiling beams. In a weird kind of way, they reflected his strange mood. The sour taste of the day lingered in his mouth and he knew sleep was a long way off. If it was coming at all. He ran a tentative hand across his ribs and winced at the pain. He supposed he was lucky it was just bruising and nothing more serious. It would be a mercy to sink into sleep and pretend the day had not happened at all.

It had been over a week since his embarrassing debacle with the dispatch delivery to the palace and Athos had been generous enough to put it behind him. D'Artagnan still cringed internally at the look of disappointment on his mentor's face and vowed that day he would never see it there again.

Except it had taken him a total of just nine days to see it there again. Only this time, it had been on other faces too. He felt the heat of shame wash over him and he wrenched the pillow from under his head and pulled it down over his face. In his anger, it took a moment to realise there was something underneath the pillow and his head was now lying on it.

D'Artagnan pushed himself up off the bed and scrambled for the piece of parchment that had been placed there. He leapt off the bed and quickly lit a candle. The idea that somebody had been in his room made him feel uneasy and he felt his heart pounding as he read the words.

_You deserve each other. Today you fell from grace. It is still a long way down from here._

Even though it was a warm night, the room suddenly took on a chill. He stared at the words and felt his mind spinning wildly. He reached down to the end of his bed and flipped open the small wooden trunk. The other two notes were buried under his cloak and he pulled them both out to compare the three. He rocked on his heels as he spread the sheets between his fingers. The first one had seemed like a strange kind of taunt and he had quickly dismissed it. He had almost thrown it away and was at a loss to explain why he had even kept it. The second one had surprised him that somebody was trying to make some kind of point in a very vague kind of way. At the time, his conscience had made the assumption it was about Constance. Now he wasn't so sure.

_Today you fell from grace._

Somebody had been quick to throw his very public humiliation back in his face. He didn't think any of the Musketeers would be so petty, but he quickly remembered he had brought disgrace on the whole regiment. He had seen the smirk on the Cardinal's face and felt the sickening shame rising up from his gut again. Then again, the Musketeers were far more likely to be up front with their disdain and not bother with playing games. In fact, they had been.

_It is still a long way down from there._

Was that meant to be some kind of threat?

Or stupid games to mess with his mind?

Or was somebody actually just enjoying toying with him?

D'Artagnan sagged back onto the bed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. His mind dragged him back to the events of the day and he found himself looking at them with fresh eyes. Had his humiliation been something more than his own carelessness after all? And who was the other person the writer referred to? Constance or somebody else altogether?

* * *

Athos had long since discarded the civility of a glass and simply swigged directly from the bottle. It had been a hell of a day. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of crumpled parchment hidden there. As he smoothed it out and laid it on the table before him, he took another long draught from the bottle.

It seemed that somebody was determined to taunt him with his own shortcomings and guilt. He stared at the writing and felt it blur before his eyes. No matter, because the words were burned into his thoughts.

_You deserve each other. Pride always comes before a fall and it's a very long way to the bottom. I will meet you there._

Athos realised he had hit the bottom of the current bottle and he felt the irony of it laughing at him. It had definitely been a long descent. He had foolishly allowed himself to believe that he could change and pull himself out of the hole. He and Anne had definitely hit the bottom when she had murdered his brother and he had chosen to follow his duty. His soul had been taken to the very depths of despair and clearly was never going to resurface, no matter what he presented to the world.

He dragged a weary hand through his hair and pushed the bottle away from him. He glanced across to see Aramis and Porthos deep in conversation at another booth. He considered slipping out while they were otherwise occupied so he would not have to discuss the day any further. Somewhere under his wine-soaked anger sat another emotion he was trying to ignore. A small voice nagged at him that there was a gap at the table.

He clenched his fist in fury and was glad that d'Artagnan had not even bothered to try to join them at the end of the day. He had no wish to look at the young man that had brought dishonour on the Musketeers with his inexplicable negligence. It made no sense to him how a young man who had been born and raised on a farm could miss such an obvious need for repairing his own equipment.

A serving girl wandered over with another bottle and held it out in his direction. He had been about to get up and leave and he noted that both Porthos and Aramis had stopped talking. He wanted to shout at them both to leave him be. Instead he fished coins out of his purse and held them out to the girl. She placed the bottle alongside his letter and he scowled at the offending piece of paper.

"You can leave me alone too!" he growled at it before crumpling it up and shoving it into his vest. Until he knew who was playing games with him and why, he would keep the papers. He took another long drink from the bottle and tried to blot out his frustration. It would take at least another bottle before he felt the anger of the day melting away.

Aramis frowned as he saw his friend seemed determined to drink himself into unconsciousness again.

"Can't say's I blame 'im."

"Hmmm?" Aramis looked back, having heard Porthos speak, but not really taking in his words.

"He's pretty mad. I dunno what was going on in the lad's head to allow his tack to get so worn?"

Aramis couldn't define just what was nagging at the edge of his thoughts, but something felt …_ off_. Athos had pulled out a scrap of paper at least half a dozen times since sitting down at the other table. It was more than that though. He drummed his fingers lightly on the table as his mind went around and around over the events of the day. As much as he wanted to push it down into that place where embarrassing memories got buried, he could not let it go until he figured out what was bothering him so much. Suddenly he looked up and stared at Porthos.

"He wouldn't!"

It had been at least five minutes since Porthos had asked the question and Aramis had failed to answer.

"Huh?"

"You asked about d'Artagnan allowing his tack to get so worn. He wouldn't! He was raised on a farm. That boy could ride a horse in his sleep. There is no way he would have ever let his saddle get so worn that he didn't notice the girth strap was about to fail."

"So … what then?" Porthos wondered at the thoughtful look on his friend's face. "Somebody damaged it?" He felt a growl rising from the pit of his stomach that Aramis could be right.

"We need to take a look at it."

"What about 'im?" Porthos hooked a thumb towards their inebriated friend.

Aramis shook his head. "Not until we know for sure. No point stirring up the hornet's nest any further if we are wrong."

The two of them looked across to where Athos was almost done on his latest bottle.

"Your turn or mine?"

Aramis was pretty sure it was his turn last time, but would not ever presume. Getting Athos home had somehow become one of those duties that they had both just adopted. It didn't mean they liked it. Or always came away unscathed.

"Mine." Porthos nodded at him in resignation. "Go and see what you can find out. Before somebody takes it off to get patched up."

Aramis stood up from the booth and looked across at Athos. Judging by the scowl on his face, Porthos had drawn the short straw.

* * *

Given the late hour, it didn't take long for Aramis to navigate the quiet streets back to the garrison. He pulled a lantern from a sconce on the wall and headed for the stables.

On the walk back he had been going over the events of the day in his head. The King had called an impromptu hunt and, as was always the case, an escort of musketeers was called in to travel with him. They had all been on hunts before and for the most part, found them terribly dull. Louis would traipse around while the gamekeepers chased up suitable targets for him. The royal hounds were let loose to pick up any scent of game and the hunt was on. The Musketeers went along, keeping an eye out for danger, while the King got to play.

That morning, Treville had named d'Artagnan as part of the royal detail and the boy had actually seemed excited by it. Athos had merely rolled his eyes, knowing that the novelty would soon wear off.

Aramis groaned as he realised d'Artagnan's first royal hunt would most likely be his last, at least for quite some time. There was no way Treville would be allowing him back on any kind of palace duty, any time soon.

He looked around the darkened stables, wondering where d'Artagnan would have left his saddle. Normally Jacques would have had everything squared away, but while he was recuperating, Marcel was doing his best to fill the gap. The younger boy was doing a good job, although there were still a few things he had to learn about how musketeers preferred things. D'Artagnan had always preferred to take care of his own horse and it had only been Treville's insistence that he was no longer a recruit that had made him give up the practice. Still, this afternoon had seen him storm back into the stables, carrying his saddle and flinging his horse's reins into Marcel's hands, before storming back out again.

Finally Aramis found what he was looking for and he held the lantern closer to inspect it for himself. The leather was polished to a high gleam, although it was clearly well worn in. A saddle was an expensive piece of equipment and something that any horseman worth his salt took great care of. He ran expert hands over the girth strap and finally found what he was looking for. The stitching holding the buckle on had pulled away and it was easy to see how the strap had failed. The fact it happened in the middle of the King's hunting party had been incredibly unfortunate.

Aramis closed his eyes as he recalled the moment when d'Artagnan had been unceremoniously flung to the ground and several of the other riders had been forced to pull up abruptly or risk trampling him. The flow of the hunt had been completely disrupted and the stag the King had been chasing got away. He was not happy. Neither was Treville. Or Athos for that matter.

The only person who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle was the Cardinal as he watched a musketeer literally left scrambling on his knees. The King was furious and the Cardinal had taken full advantage to disparage the entire regiment, their captain and particularly d'Artagnan as they had ridden back to the palace.

Aramis pulled the lantern right up against the saddle as he ran his fingers along the broken stitching. As a man who had seen more than his fair share of stitching, he noted something strange. The stitching and leather had not torn, as it would have if it was worn. It had been cut. He felt his stomach drop as the implication sunk in.


	4. Chapter 4

Once again, thank you so much for your time, reviews and feedback. I hope I've answered a few questions. Sorry this was delayed a bit, but I've had a rather crappy week. At least writing allows me a chance to escape for a bit. Even if the guys can't :-)

**Chapter Four**

Aramis hung the lantern back on the outside sconce and headed out of the stable. His mind was racing with questions and possibilities. He looked up to the darkness and noted the moon was still far too high in the sky. There was nothing to be gained from waking up Treville just yet. His discovery would simply have to wait until a more civilised hour. He debated going back and checking on Porthos, but wondered if his friend would have already made sure Athos made it home safely. He had no wish to discuss the issue with Athos in his current state as his mood was already foul enough, without tipping him over the edge. Finally he decided he needed to go and check anyway and he headed out of the garrison again. It wasn't like he was going to sleep any time soon anyway.

He had no inkling of the small shadow following along behind him as he retraced his steps to the tavern. By the time he arrived, the corner booth where his friend had been earlier was now occupied by a lady of the night and her current customer. He quickly hurried past as she leered suggestively at him. He had no interest in waiting in line.

A quick chat with the barmaid told him all he needed to know. Porthos had virtually carried Athos out the door half an hour earlier. He must have chosen a different route home as they had not crossed paths. It seemed their drowning friend had been once again saved from himself. He walked back out into the street and leaned against the stone wall of the tavern. He knew how proud Athos was of the Musketeers; a feeling they all carried in their hearts. He also knew how much his friend hated court intrigue and giving the Cardinal even an inch of ground. It wasn't surprising that Athos had reacted to d'Artagnan's incredibly badly-timed fall and the subsequent effects. What was chewing at him though was the niggling voice that Athos had been out of sorts _before_ the incident. Something about that piece of paper had also been bothering him all night at the tavern. Porthos had seen it first and the two of them had watched as he repeatedly pulled it out onto the table and then screwed it back up and shoved it in his pocket. He fully intended to ask about it when his friend had sobered up and had some sleep.

Aramis finally pushed off from the wall and wandered back towards the garrison. He wasn't sure that he would be getting much sleep once he got there though.

* * *

D'Artagnan had given up on the idea of sleep. The papers lay spread across his bed and the more he stared at them, the more they infuriated him.

_You deserve each other. Today you fell from grace. It is still a long way down from here._

The thing that burned the most was the fact he had only just gained his commission a few months before and he was still enjoying the favour from the King. In one short day, it seemed that all of that had been swept aside. Louie was renowned for his fickle nature when it came to royal favour. He could even completely forget people when he chose to. D'Artagnan wasn't sure if that was genuine or simply the convolutions of court politics playing out, but whatever the case, he had not wished to be on the receiving end of it. Especially not before at least having a few points up his sleeve to offset it.

As he stared at the papers, something gnawed at the edge of his thoughts. Maybe being out of favour with the King wasn't the worst part of it. He growled in frustration as he pushed himself off the bed. Although he didn't want to admit it, having embarrassed Athos grated even harder on him. The man had risked his own reputation to take on a lost stray and train him up to musketeer standards. And how was he repaid? D'Artagnan remembered the firm set of Athos' shoulders as he steadfastly refused to look anywhere near him earlier in the day. Somehow it hurt even more than Treville's angry rebuke.

Before he had stopped to think about it, he was outside and heading towards the stables. If they were called out for any reason the next morning, he needed to be ready to go. He did not wish for Treville to have to make him stay behind, for lack of a saddle. Of course there were spare ones in the stable, but somehow that idea just rubbed salt into the wound. Without actually voicing it to himself, he had no plans to fall any further. Or give Treville any reason to hold him back.

He reached up for a lantern off the wall sconce and headed into the darkened stables. The sounds of various horses carried through the blackened space and he felt an immediate sense of calm. Somehow, being around the animals always brought a feeling of peace. He headed over to give his horse a quick neck scratch and looked around for his gear. Jacques would have had it all in order, but he wasn't there. D'Artagnan felt his breath catch in his throat as he recalled the morning he had arrived at the stable to find Jacques was not there. The boy was such a fixture around the garrison that it still felt strange not to see him there amongst the horses. News had quickly spread that their stableboy had been run down in the street by a carriage and left for dead. It had shocked them all, but in the crowded streets of Paris, it wasn't uncommon for a nobleman's carriage to leave a trail of destruction behind it when said noble was in a hurry and didn't stop to care about the peasantry.

Treville had arranged for a place for Jacques to stay while he recovered, since he clearly couldn't take care of himself as he did at the garrison. D'Artagnan sighed as he realised how much he had missed the sunny smile that greeted him each morning. When the Captain had insisted he stop grooming his horse himself, it was only the fact that Jacques clearly loved the animals that had eased his mind. As a recruit, he had spent many hours in the stables and had lengthy talks with the lad. Both of them were orphaned and somehow they had hit it off while brushing down the backs of sweaty horses.

He shook off his train of thought and refocused on why he had come in the first place. He had no idea where Marcel would have left his saddle and he searched the area around where his horse was. Finally he found it and he paused as he stared at it. He felt the heat rising up his face again as he recalled the humiliation all over again. The string of curses from the nobles who had been forced to pull out of the chase still echoed in his ears. He reached out a hand and tugged at the broken strap. It was a fairly straightforward job to re-stitch the torn stitches. Once he had hunted around for supplies, he pulled the saddle onto the ground, placed the lantern closer and settled in to getting the job done.

Almost an hour later he replaced the awl and thread spool and hoisted the saddle onto its rack. He rubbed a hand across his face and felt the tremor of fatigue in his fingers. He needed to sleep; if for no other reason than to make his mind stop.

* * *

D'Artagnan felt the warmth of the morning sun creeping into his room and he tried to ignore it. His head had slipped almost under the pillow and his body reminded him of his tumble from horseback the day before as he rolled onto his side. The ribs on the other side protested and he tried to bury his face back into the pillow. As he pulled a hand up to shield his face, his fingers brushed against something metallic.

He pushed up from the bed in an instant and ignored the flare in his side as he stared at the pillow.

"What?" The word came out almost as a whisper as his mind registered what he was seeing.

A small metal dagger pinned a piece of parchment to the pillow.

"It can't be!" Tentatively he reached out to pull the dagger free and he twisted it between his fingers. He knew exactly who favoured those kind of weapons and his heart skipped a beat as he threw it on the floor in disgust.

He knew he was tired when he had finally fallen into bed in the early hours of the morning, but could he have really slept through somebody entering his room? As he looked around, almost half expecting somebody to slip out of the shadows, he shook his head at his own failings.

"Some Musketeer you are! Can't even secure your own quarters!" The anger flooded his whole body as he contemplated what could have happened. He very well may not have woken up at all. He pulled in the macabre thoughts filling his head and leaned over to pick up the parchment. Suddenly things were beginning to make sense.

_You most definitely deserve each other with your sense of honour. I can see and hear all that you do. If you speak just one word of this, he will die. Slowly and very, very painfully. His death will be on your head._

D'Artagnan sank back onto the bed and held the threat in his trembling hands. Anger had been replaced by an icy fear. After all his questioning and wondering, it seemed most of his answers had come in one hit. Given the manner of delivery, there was no question in his mind that Milady was behind it. The other half written of in the letters could only be Athos. His breath faltered as he considered the last time she had left him a warning dagger in his pillow. Somebody had died. For a moment his mind screamed at him that Athos was already dead, but as he re-read the words he knew she hadn't done anything to him.

Yet.

It was clear that she planned to though. Why else would she have dared return to Paris when she was under pain of death?

He clenched the paper in his fist and tried to pull his thoughts into some semblance of order. Fear for his friend threatened to overtake his thoughts and he stood up to walk it off. He was still pacing around the small room when he heard a knock on the door.

* * *

"You're sure about this?" Porthos raised an eyebrow at his friend. The sun was barely up and he wished that he was not. He also knew how much Aramis could try to put a positive spin on things and while he wanted to believe it, he had to be sure.

"I'm positive! I know stitching, do I not? I am telling you, my friend, that stitching was cut, not torn!" Aramis shook his head as if to emphasise his point. "D'Artagnan was not at fault. I would stake my name on it."

"Good enough for me," Porthos nodded towards him. "Let's go and give the lad some good news. I think he could do with it."

"Actually … I'd like to talk to Treville first. Show him the evidence and clear d'Artagnan's name so we can then give him truly good news. To … well … I guess offset the news that it seems somebody is out to hurt him." Aramis frowned as the logical train of thought registered fully for the first time. He scowled at Porthos as the two of them headed out for the stable.

* * *

Athos stood outside d'Artagnan's door and tried to ignore the glare of the sunlight glinting off the metal handle. He stepped sideways a little to block the random reflection and forced his eyes open. His head hurt, much as it had for many of the days prior to this one. As he had gone through his morning-after ritual, his mind kept returning to one thing. In his anger, the day before, he had not once stopped to ask his young friend if he was injured.

As events had played out so quickly, he had not stopped to think that he was already wound tightly, even before d'Artagnan's spectacular fall. He had simply seen the results of another poor choice rolling out before him and then the Cardinal had seized on it to pour public disdain over the whole regiment.

Aramis had hinted at his over-reaction the night before. While they may not know the real cause of his sour mood, his friends had certainly read it correctly.

He raised his hand to knock again and stepped back as the door swung open. He cringed inwardly as he saw the initial look of anger on d'Artagnan's face. He watched as the young man schooled his face into a mask and stared at him. It wasn't surprising really if the lad didn't want to speak with him.


	5. Chapter 5

I got myself stuck on a plot point, but it seems to have unraveled itself, so here we go with the next chapter. Thank you again to all those who have let me know what you think. Glad you are following and enjoying.

**Chapter Five**

Marcel was already hard at work mucking out the stables when Aramis and Porthos arrived. While the boy still had a long way to go to measure up to Jacques' standards, he was, for the most part, doing a decent job. The sun was well and truly up and they no longer had need of a lantern to find their way into the stable, although it was still a little gloomy inside. Aramis headed straight to where he had left the saddle the night before and pulled up short when he saw it was gone. He looked around and was about to call for Marcel when he spotted it. The boy must have placed it back on the rack near where d'Artagnan's horse was stalled.

Porthos waited behind him and was surprised to hear Aramis mutter a curse, almost under his breath.

"What?" He stepped forward to see Aramis shaking his head angrily.

"Marcel!" Aramis looked around the stables. He could hear the boy at work and knew he wasn't far from them. In seconds a blonde head popped over the railing.

"Here, monsieur."

Aramis pointed to the saddle on the rack. "Did you put this back here?"

"No, monsieur." The boy looked a little alarmed, as if he was going to be in trouble, but Aramis wasn't paying attention to that.

"Who else has been in here since last night?"

"I … ahh … I'm really not sure. I was 'ere before first light and there weren't nobody 'ere then."

Porthos watched the boy's face and noted something. He'd seen plenty of boys just like him in the court. He stepped up closer to Aramis to see what the problem was. Before he could ask, Aramis pointed towards the saddle.

"Somebody repaired it! We've got nothing to go to Treville with!" He clenched his fists in frustration and turned his back on the boy. It wasn't his fault after all and he didn't deserve to bear the brunt of his anger.

"We can still talk to 'im. Tell 'im what you saw. He'll listen to you." Porthos watched the frustration on his friend's face begin to dissipate as he slowly nodded.

"You are right, as always, my friend. He will listen. We will _make_ him listen!"

Porthos smiled at the look of determination that settled over Aramis' features. It was far better than what it had replaced. As the two of them left the stable, Marcel reached up towards the saddle and tugged at the girth strap. Somehow it had been totally repaired from the day before. He had no idea how, but it was another piece of information to share with his benefactor. That and the fact the two musketeers had been very bothered by it.

* * *

Athos tried to keep a neutral face as he waited for d'Artagnan to respond. The initial look of anger had been quickly removed from his face, but he knew it had only been buried and was not really gone.

"May I come in?" The words were quiet and the tone flat. The usual ease between them was clearly strained.

D'Artagnan felt the panic rise up in him as he realised the papers were still scattered across his bed. He held his hand behind his back as he was still holding the latest one scrunched in his fist. Trying not to draw attention to it, he slipped the piece of parchment into his belt.

"No!"

Athos flinched at the harshness of the response, but held his stance. He watched as conflicting emotions ran across the boy's face and considered what to say next. He hadn't expected a warm response, but d'Artagnan wasn't usually one to hold a grudge either. Still, the mess from the day before was very fresh in both of their minds.

"I came to see if you are injured at all."

D'Artagnan felt his chest constrict as he would have given anything to be asked that question the day before. Today, he really didn't care. His state of health was irrelevant. The man standing in front of him was in life-threatening danger and it seemed there was nothing he could do to warn him. He felt his mind doing a myriad of flips as he tried to think of something to say.

Athos watched as d'Artagnan raised his hand absently towards his ribs and he felt a wave of shame wash over him. Of course the lad was injured and he had not even stopped to ask. His fury from the day before suddenly came back at him as he knew he had overreacted. Of course, the fact the letters had left him so unnerved was not d'Artagnan's fault. It was testimony to his beloved wife's true nature that she could produce such depth of emotion in him without even being present.

"I am fine. Nothing I can't manage."

The curtness of the reply did nothing to alleviate Athos' concern. In fact, it heightened it.

"Did Aramis take a look at you yesterday?"

D'Artagnan frowned at him. If Athos didn't know the answer to that question, then they had not discussed it together.

"I told you, I am fine."

Athos felt the thrumming of his headache step up a notch. There was no point arguing and it was almost time for the breakfast. He tried appealing to the lad's appetite instead and smiled at him.

"Then in that case, I guess you'll be hungry."

"I'll be down shortly. I have a few things to do."

Athos nodded and turned to leave when it was clear he was being dismissed. He pulled his hat back down over his face and headed for the training yard. His headache clearly wasn't going away any time soon.

D'Artagnan closed the door and turned his back to sag against it. Never would he have imagined keeping secrets from Athos. He had briefly contemplated speaking to Aramis and Porthos, but he could not be sure it was safe yet. He had seen first hand how devious and cruel Milady could be. She had left Athos to die a gruesome death, apparently without a shred of remorse. When she had abducted Constance, he had feared the worst, based on what he knew of her. She was capable of anything and her hatred of Athos was extreme. He needed a plan before he did anything.

He crossed the room and picked up the dagger from where he had flung it earlier. The metal felt smooth and the delicate scroll work around the handle belied how deadly it could be in the right hands. He had seen her use a weapon just like it before. The red guard in the dead end alley. The poor man she traveled with the night he first met her. There was no doubt in his mind it had come from Milady and absolutely no question that her next target was Athos.

* * *

Treville sat at his desk and let out a slow breath. Two of his most trusted men stood in front of him, waiting for a response. Porthos looked relatively calm while Aramis looked like he was going to burst.

"I know what I saw, Captain."

"I understand that he means a lot to all of you and that you have his back."

Aramis was about to speak when Porthos laid a hand on his shoulder. Treville noted the gesture and paused. Aramis always was the most animated of the trio.

"Trio." The word was barely a mutter and the two men leaned closer.

It had been a close knit trio for a long time. Somehow d'Artagnan had been pulled into that and the men had accepted him as part of them. The four of them were a solid unit. He had watched with pride as the three of them had taken a raw recruit and grown him into the man who had bested Labarge in the King's challenge. The young man who had been the first one to charge in to defend him when he was injured.

He sighed as he looked up at the two of them.

"You are sure?"

"Yes, Captain. I know stitching and I know what I saw. I don't care if somebody has repaired it. That girth strap was cut! Somebody deliberately wanted to cause a problem for d'Artagnan. And they succeeded spectacularly!"

"What does Athos have to say about it?" Treville watched as Aramis' face flickered with emotion. Clearly they hadn't told him.

"He doesn't know, does he?"

Porthos waited as Aramis tried to find the right response. "We decided to tell you first. Clear the boy's name and then work out what to do."

Aramis nodded before leaning into the Captain's desk. "Somebody wants to discredit him and picked a novel way to do it."

The anger rippled off him in waves and Treville noted again the protectiveness his men felt towards their newest recruit. Whoever had chosen him as a target, had actually picked four targets. Make that five. The Cardinal's arrogant attack on his men and his regiment still rankled from the day before and he would take great pleasure in bringing the truth to the King. Just as soon as he knew what the truth was.

Suddenly Porthos stepped away from the desk as he tugged at the end of his beard.

The two men watched him, knowing that something was coming.

"What if it wasn't just about discreditin' 'im? That strap could have failed at any time. 'e's lucky it was on flat ground. What if 'e'd been on a slope? Or on rocky ground?"

Aramis stared at his friend as the thought hadn't occurred to him. "He could have broken his neck!"

Treville felt his stomach clench at the thought. "Any ideas on who would have done it? And how they got into the stable?"

"Not yet, but we're working on it." The anger flared again on Aramis' face again as he looked across at Porthos. Treville was under no illusions on what they would do when they did find out.

"Send him up to see me. Don't let on that you know anything yet. And leave Athos to me."

* * *

D'Artagnan watched as Athos sat slouched over on the bench and ignored the plate of breakfast Serge placed in front of him. He felt sick at the thought the man was oblivious to what was coming. In that moment, he vowed he would do all he could to protect his friend, or die trying.

He looked up to see Aramis and Porthos leaving Treville's office and he cringed as he guessed the topic of conversation. No doubt Treville was telling them he was off the duty rotation. He felt his anger rising again as it seemed he had lost everything he'd worked so hard for in one day. No, not everything. Athos was still alive and somehow he would make sure he stayed that way.

Porthos saw him first and headed towards him. The scowl on his friend's face just reinforced the extent of his disgrace.

"Captain wants to see you."

D'Artagnan headed for the stairs without acknowledging any of them. There was nothing to say anyway. Athos looked up from the bench and frowned as their young friend seemed intent on ignoring them all. He barely nodded as Aramis and Porthos settled on either side of the bench. Porthos reached across and snagged an apple while Aramis looked distracted.

"What does Treville want with d'Artagnan?" Athos watched as a look flicked between his friends. They clearly knew something.

Porthos took another bite of his apple and shrugged his shoulders.

Aramis looked tired and Athos briefly wondered how long his friends had stayed up for him the night before.

"Probably eating him for breakfast!"

Athos stared at the table while his insides churned. Something was very, very off and he had no idea what it was.

* * *

D'Artagnan forced himself to stand at attention and looked at the edge of the Captain's desk. He did not trust himself to make eye contact with the man. The words were registering, but his mind was not giving him any kind of answers. Instead he stood silently and tried desperately to find a way out.

"Did you hear what I said? Aramis and Porthos believe your saddle girth strap was deliberately cut. Do you have any idea who would do that? Or why?"

"None."

Treville watched the familiar expression of his youngest recruit chewing on his bottom lip. It was a clear sign he was deep in thought. The frown on his features was not surprising.

"In order for somebody to get access to it, they had to enter the stable unnoticed, _after_ you had saddled your horse. I'm going to bet that you would have noticed it if it had been done prior to that."

D'Artagnan stared at him as the implication sunk in. Milady had somebody within the garrison! All the more reason to keep silent.


	6. Chapter 6

I was supposed to be doing other things, but, well, you know how it is! Stories take over your life when you start writing them. I will need to get a few things done so don't shoot me, but I promise I'll be back. Thank you once again to all the wonderful reviewers and those who have PM'd. You make my day :-)

**Chapter Six**

Athos was about to ask a further question when a palace dispatch rider came charging through the gate. The rider dismounted quickly as one of the nearby musketeers grabbed at his horse's reins. The man was sprinting up the stairs, two at a time and barged straight into Treville's office.

The three men were on their feet and automatically checking their weapons belts without even having to think about it. Something was very wrong and they fully expected Treville to call for them at any moment. All thoughts of breakfast and conversation were pushed aside as duty stepped in the way. As the King's men, their time was not their own and each of them had long ago accepted the reality of that.

Sure enough, a few minutes later Treville emerged from his office and leaned over the railing. "You three, up here, now!"

Athos was already at the foot of the stairs in anticipation and the others were only a step behind. As they hurried into their captain's office they could each see the dispatch rider standing off to one side with d'Artagnan behind him. It almost appeared as if he was trying to shrink into the wall. Aramis nodded towards him and Porthos made eye contact, while Athos noted the lad simply dropped his eyes at the sight of him. He sighed and shoved the disappointment down to where he could deal with it later.

Treville waved a piece of parchment at them. The broken seal on it was the Cardinal's and Athos felt his stomach churning in anger. After the day before he wondered what the wily old fox had come up with now to cause them grief. He was surprised at what actually came out instead.

"There has been an assassination attempt on the Cardinal. We leave at once."

The dispatch rider was already making his way out the door when the captain turned towards d'Artagnan. He looked almost apologetic as he frowned. "It will be better if you stay here. I'm sorry."

D'Artagnan still refused to make eye contact with the others and simply nodded at Treville's orders. Before he knew it, the four of them were on their way out of the garrison and he stood alone in the practice courtyard. Various men who would have normally made conversation with him seemed to be avoiding him as they went about their business. He couldn't blame them really. After all, he had single-handedly brought disrepute on the entire regiment and now he was being excluded from a mission he would normally have been included on. The fact it seemed it was not his fault burned bitterly in his stomach.

Serge held out a plate of food towards him and his stomach recoiled at the idea.

"No thanks," he waved the man away and found his feet heading for the stable. There was nothing else he was supposed to be doing since Treville hadn't issued any other orders and he had no wish to be around anybody anyway.

Minutes later his face was buried in his horse's neck as he sought solace in the one place he could. At least horses had none of the fickle nature of people. He reached out to brush the animal's already lustrous coat and he smiled to himself. Treville had ordered him to stop grooming his horse, but there was nothing else he wanted to be doing. It also gave him a chance to think without looking idle.

Twenty minutes later he sensed movement behind him and turned to see Marcel watching him. The boy looked apprehensive, as if he was nervous to interrupt.

"Would you like me to do that for you? Captain Treville expects me to take care of all that."

D'Artagnan smiled at the boy. He was a little younger than Jacques, but just as keen to help.

"It's all right. I enjoy taking care of him. I've always done it myself, before I came to live here."

Marcel watched as the man reached across to scratch his horse's head, behind the ears. He could not reach those spots and needed to stand on an upturned bucket to reach the taller horses. It seemed musketeers had a preference for larger horses and he found he was still a little intimidated by some of the more spirited ones.

"Can I ask you a question?" The boy turned serious eyes towards him and d'Artagnan felt himself trying to hide a smile at the shy child. He had hated being laughed at by the older boys when he was younger and seemed to find children generally easy to talk to.

"Sure."

"Well … um … your saddle was damaged and I put it over there." Marcel pointed to the railing where he had placed the saddle the day before. "When I came in this morning it was up there and it was all fixed."

D'Artagnan turned back to keep brushing his horse's left flank. He thought the boy felt he was in trouble for not keeping track of things properly. "It's all right. I moved it last night after I fixed it. I figured I may need it this morning, but I guess not."

He quickly moved to reach around the other side of his horse so the young stableboy wouldn't see the mortified look on his face. He had no idea how long it would be before he was back on any kind of duty rotation. Treville had explained what had happened. Well, at least Aramis and Porthos' theories. That didn't mean they were proven yet and he still needed to work out what he was going to do about Athos. He felt sick at the idea somebody in the garrison had been complicit. It went against the very core of being a musketeer. He had seen red guards sell out, but never a musketeer. It didn't mean it was impossible and Marsac's failings had shown him that men were capable of making grievous errors in judgement. Still, it felt completely foreign that any of the King's guards could be involved with Milady.

He dropped his forehead onto his horse's side and tried to keep his composure. _He _had been involved with her, even after knowing what she was capable of. He felt his heart beat wildly as he recalled seeing her holding a pistol to Constance's head. He was in no doubt that she would use it. He had already seen her ruthlessness and calm manner when it came to killing. She really was capable of anything.

* * *

Upon arriving at the palace, the four men had quickly been ushered into the Cardinal's chambers. The man himself was pacing the room. His usual calm and calculating demeanor was gone and he looked flustered. When he caught sight of the Musketeers he snapped his fingers at the red guards in the room and waved them out the door.

"Treville, I know I was vocal yesterday in my disapproval of your young recruit, but this is really beyond words!"

The Captain stopped half way across the room and the three men trailing him also halted behind him. Treville had his hand on the hilt of his sword and he took up a defiant stance. "What are you talking about?"

"This!" The Cardinal waived a piece of parchment towards him and Athos felt his heart constrict in his chest.

Treville stepped forward and reached for the paper. He turned it over in his hand and noted there was no wax seal. Athos wanted to pull it from his hands and examine it for himself, but he barely managed to hold himself steady.

As Treville read the words, the Cardinal resumed his agitated pacing. "It was nailed to my door …. with this!" He held up a tiny metal dagger and once again, Athos felt the breath catch in his throat. He had seen several of those over the years. His mind was spinning. The letters looked identical and the dagger was indisputable evidence. He felt sick to his stomach as he began to put pieces together and he silently cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.

Treville looked back at the words and frowned. "You made fools of the Musketeers and you will pay for it."

He looked up to see the Cardinal watching him through hooded eyes. "You think _we_ had anything to do with this? Are you seriously saying that my men would stoop to this?" He threw the paper onto the desk in disgust.

"You and your men were left looking very foolish yesterday. You can't deny that."

The man raised an eyebrow at him and Treville barely managed to keep his voice even.

"Nobody under my command would threaten you because of a petty insult."

"There was nothing petty about the King's new favourite being shown to be incompetent. Your training obviously leaves much to be desired, Captain."

All four men visibly bristled at the man's words, but Treville glared at him. "It has come to light that d'Artagnan's saddle was sabotaged, although I am yet to discover who is responsible. Rest assured that when I do, I will be letting the King know."

Athos stared at the back of his captain's head as he heard the truth of the matter. He felt instantly sick that he had added insult to injury by blaming the boy for something that was not his fault. No wonder he was so reluctant to talk earlier in the day. As soon as he returned to the garrison he would be making amends for his error in judgement. He should have known better!

Richelieu stared back at Treville, trying to determine if the man was telling the truth or simply covering for one of his men. Judging by the fury on his face, it seemed he at least believed what he was saying.

"That still doesn't explain the threat to my person." He waved the dagger towards Treville in a pointed manner. "This person managed to get to my door. They are intent on defending the Musketeers. If anything happens to me it will be on _your_ head!"

"Actually, I would be looking a little closer to home to lay blame. Or are you saying your own guards are unable to do their job?"

Porthos barely contained a smirk at the open insult. Every time they crossed paths, they wiped the floor with the red guards. The only reason he kept them around was because their idea of honour matched the Cardinal's. Despite his hysterical claim, it was hardly an assassination attempt.

Treville turned towards the door and his men followed behind, without comment. "I will investigate from my end and let you know if I come up with anything. In the meantime, I suggest a pay increase may be in order."

The Cardinal simply glared after them as they left him standing alone in the middle of the room.

* * *

Athos waited until they were outside the palace gates before moving his horse alongside Treville's.

"Is it true? That d'Artagnan was set up?"

"It appears that way. Aramis said the stitching on his girth strap had been cut and was not torn or worn out."

Athos pulled his horse up short and glared at them. Treville stopped and looked back towards his lieutenant. It didn't take a genius to see what was going through the man's head.

"Was anybody planning on sharing this with me?" The words were calm, but the glint of anger in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Treville cut in before either Aramis or Porthos could respond. "We were talking about it this morning and I wanted to speak to d'Artagnan first. I was doing that when we were interrupted by the dispatch rider."

Athos stared back at the three of them and felt physically ill. How much more damage would his wife's lies and schemes do? He urged his horse forward, suddenly very eager to get back to the garrison and clear the air.

By the time they arrived, the four of them were each absorbed in their own thoughts. It was a silent and sombre group that handed their horses over and began to walk out of the stable. Treville was about to say something when he looked across the stalls. D'Artagnan's horse was not there.

"Marcel!"

The boy reappeared quickly and the rest of the group had already noted the horse's absence too.

"Yes, Captain."

"Where is d'Artagnan? His horse is gone."

The boy looked around in bewilderment. "I … ahh … I don't know. He was here before, grooming his horse. I didn't see him go. I'm sorry!"

Athos glared at him before stalking out of the stable. With nowhere else to go to burn off some anger he headed for his quarters. He was too wound up to explain where he was going and he simply walked out of the garrison. Treville watched him leave. Porthos made to follow and the Captain placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Leave him to calm down. He will no doubt be punishing himself for yesterday. It will do him good to walk it off."

Aramis cocked his head to one side as he considered Treville's words. Porthos frowned at the pair of them, but he made no effort to move again.

* * *

Athos slammed the door behind him and sunk down onto the bed. He dropped his head into his hands and growled in frustration. His mind kept replaying the moment where d'Artagnan had been flung from his horse and his own angry response. To think that he was not even responsible for it, and even worse, could have been killed, was chewing at his insides. He felt the restlessness still pushing at him and he stood up to pace across the room. His breath caught in his throat when he saw it.

A piece of parchment was pinned to the back of his door with a small dagger. He staggered towards the door and pulled at the offending piece of metal before flinging it to the floor. His fingers seemed intent on working against him as he pulled open the parchment.

Blind rage tore at him as he wanted to scream.

_I told you that you deserve each other. He worships you and that will be his undoing. No doubt by now, you know that I can see all that you do. I can enter wherever and whenever I please. If you speak just one word of this, he will die. Slowly and very, very painfully. His death will be on your head. Just like Thomas._


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you once again for all the lovely people who review or message me. Sorry I can't reply to anonymous reviews but I do appreciate them too. For everyone following along, thank you for your time. I'm actually finding it really hard to write distance between Athos and d'Artagnan as it seems so weird. I'm much better at writing them together. If only a certain cow would get out of their way!

**Chapter Seven**

D'Artagnan sat on the floor and leaned his head up against the wall. He had the book angled across his knees so that Jacques could see it without having to move from where he was propped up against the pillows. Madame Devereaux had been through earlier with mugs of spiced tea and he lifted his up to take a sip. So far Jacques hadn't moved towards his.

"Do you need a hand with that?" he smiled as he nodded towards the mug.

"No. I know she means well, but … well … I don't actually like it." The boy whispered across the bed as he pulled a face. "She brings it at least twice a day because she somehow got the idea I liked it."

D'Artagnan smiled and nodded. It would be just like their young stableboy to not want to upset a kindly old friend of Treville's. She had been taking care of him since the accident and he very much appreciated it, although he was not used to so much personal attention. In many ways, it made him uncomfortable.

"You want me to drink it for you so she won't know?"

Jacques grinned at him. "Yes, please!"

The boy's face was still a mottled patch of colours and swelling, but somehow seeing him grin, made it look a little less frightening. His left eye was almost open again, but the black and purple ring around it that extended down his cheek told its own story. It was a miracle he hadn't lost any teeth. D'Artagnan regarded him more solemnly and sucked in a breath. It was a miracle he wasn't dead!

He looked back towards the book and flicked a few pages to cover his reaction.

"Ready for today's lesson?"

Jacques nodded and shuffled a little closer. He had never imagined that anybody would be able to teach him his letters. Somehow it had come up in a conversation with the tall stranger who had appeared one day in the stable. All of the musketeers valued their horses, but there was something different about this one. He loved his horse and Jacques saw it in the way he groomed the animal while keeping up a running conversation. It made him laugh that anybody would talk to a horse. Finally when he got up the nerve to ask about it, D'Artagnan told him horses were excellent listeners and did not judge. It still seemed odd, but it was one of his favourite things about his friend. That and the fact that he was the closest thing he had to a friend his own age at the garrison.

Somehow the afternoon was gone before either of them had noticed. Madame Devereaux had brought in a tray of food and more spiced tea and while Jacques hadn't eaten much of it, he seemed content enough to fall asleep.

D'Artagnan leaned against the windowsill of the small room and watched the people in the alley below. It seemed so normal. It was very much like the view he had at the Bonacieux's home and he frowned at the thought. As he turned back to watch his young friend sleeping, he felt a wave of anxiety wash over him. The boy had nearly died as the result of an unfortunate accident. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of what could have happened.

Fear was not something that usually took hold of him, but it was becoming an almost constant companion. Milady was deliberately looking to kill her estranged husband. How in the world was he supposed to protect Athos from his nemesis? She had tentacles everywhere and he swore that he would not underestimate her again.

* * *

In the alleyway below, a young girl sat in the street and twirled a wooden toy around in circles with a stick. It was getting boring waiting for the dark-haired man to come back out, but the pretty lady had already given her enough coins in recent weeks to make it worth it. She felt the metal coin underneath her foot, inside her shoe and she smiled to herself. It was enough to eat well for a week. Part of her was curious about the stranger she had been trailing every few days. He seemed nicer than the grumpy man she had followed the day before. It didn't really matter though as all she had to do was recall where he had been and who he had spoken to. She noticed movement at the window above and froze in fear. If the man had seen her then the lady would stop paying her. She had been very clear about that. He seemed to be watching the whole street and she resumed spinning the toy, hoping he hadn't noticed her.

* * *

By the time he began the trek back to the garrison, d'Artagnan felt his stomach beginning to flip again. The time spent with Jacques had been overdue and he fully intended to go back as soon as possible. He had always wondered what a little brother or sister would have been like and somehow the boy seemed to be a natural fit. The two of them had gravitated together from their first meeting and he enjoyed the boy's quick wit and gentle nature. He smiled to himself as he thought about their first conversation. Jacques had laughed at him because he was talking to his horse. It struck him as funny that he now seemed to do the same thing with various musketeers' horses. For some reason though, Jacques never spoke to Athos' horse. For that matter, he barely spoke to Athos. It had taken a while for him to coax it out of the lad, but he was in awe of the man. D'Artagnan's smile spread into a grin as he could completely understand why.

The smile quickly slid off his face as he took note of a child sitting in the street, in a pale blue, tatty dress. She had unkempt hair and a general look of neglect about her. She was just like hundreds of other impoverished children who begged on the streets of Paris every day. The thing was, he was sure he had seen her before. He caught her eye as he walked past and she grinned up at him while she spun a toy at her feet.

* * *

It was late afternoon when d'Artagnan finally rode back into the garrison. He could hear the clash of metal on metal and wondered who was in the practice yard. Part of him hoped that Athos was there because at least then he was surrounded by fellow musketeers and relatively safe.

Safe!

The word rolled off his lips and he frowned as he slid off his horse. His friend was not safe so long as Milady lived. Her hatred and depravity knew no limits apparently. D'Artagnan had sometimes found himself wondering about Thomas and the kind of man he would have become. What path Athos' life may have taken if his adored younger brother had lived. He paused as he thought, not for the first time, that maybe Athos would never have become a musketeer if he had not lost his brother and wife all in one go. For the young man, the idea was unthinkable, and yet he would have given anything to spare his friend and mentor such pain.

He continued across towards the stable, lost in thought and did not see Athos marching towards him. By the time he did notice, his friend was glaring at him.

"Where have you been?"

There was such depth of emotion in the question that d'Artagnan stopped in his tracks. His usually taciturn friend was barely holding himself in check. Athos stepped in front of him and d'Artagnan found his path blocked. His horse stamped nervously as though even he could feel the tension between them.

"I went to see Jacques."

Athos' face flickered briefly with something indefinable before he stepped aside.

"Nobody knew where you had gone."

D'Artagnan tugged his horse forward as he tried to hide the confusion on his face. Something in Athos' response made him bristle and he responded without thinking.

"I'm off the duty rotation, remember? I wasn't allowed to go to the palace this morning and I wanted to clear my head! I wasn't aware I needed your permission."

The tone was harsher than he intended and Athos stared blankly back at him. He cringed as he realised he had just added further insult to the alienation between them and he desperately needed to keep his friend close, not push him away.

Before either of them could do any further damage, Aramis pushed his way into the space between them.

"Before you two go calling for seconds and pistols at dawn, and make myself and Porthos choose sides, I propose we go and find a tavern with good wine and lovely ladies. In fact … I know just the place!" The grin on his face was not quite as true as he would have liked, but it had the desired effect. Whatever was going on between the two of them, he would not allow it to continue any further. Porthos had appeared behind D'Artagnan and the young man knew he was not going to be given a choice to say no. He bit his lip to prevent his mouth from failing him and he simply nodded.

Athos dipped his head in agreement and stepped back to allow d'Artagnan to lead his horse into the stable.

He watched the smirk slide off Aramis' face as he stared him down.

"Pistols at dawn! You, of all people, should know that dueling is illegal."

Porthos clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder and laughed. "'e's just worried that you would have chosen to be the boy's second and you're a better shot than his second."

Aramis crossed his arms and tried not to smile. " And who, exactly, would his second be?"

Porthos shrugged his shoulders and laughed again. "No idea!"

"I'm glad you both find this all so amusing."

Something in the tone of voice made them both push down the laughter and pay attention. The truth was, it wasn't funny and there was some serious repair work to do.

Before either of them could respond, d'Artagnan reappeared from the stable. He could tell he had walked into the middle of a conversation and the fact they had all stopped talking when he arrived was concerning. If it were not for his fears over Athos' wellbeing, he would have preferred to leave them all to their own devices for the night.

Instead, he plastered on a smile and looked at Aramis. "Where to?"

* * *

The evening passed far too slowly for Athos. He bypassed a bottle of wine after the first glass and settled back against the booth. He knew he needed to keep his wits about him and he used the time to survey the surrounding area. There were several people who caught his attention and he kept tabs on their movements.

Between Aramis and Porthos, the conversation flowed for a while. D'Artagnan made an effort to at least appear interested, but his responses were limited to single word answers. Athos seemed even more reserved than usual as he seemed preoccupied with watching the room.

Finally Porthos decided he'd had enough of the torture and pulled out a deck of cards. He began to deal cards out to each of the others and Athos tried to ignore them.

"Not betting tonight. Just playing for the fun of teaching young d'Artagnan here some new tricks." He grinned towards the young man as he shoved the pile of cards towards Athos.

"Me? I'm not interested in learning to cheat."

Aramis smiled across at the hurt look on Porthos' face. "You've wounded him! He does not cheat. He merely punishes others for not being astute enough to discern his actions."

"Exactly! Now, watch and learn my young friend. Sleight of hand is a skill every musketeer can put to good use."

D'Artagnan was in no mood to play games, but if it kept the four of them together for a while longer, it made him feel a little calmer. There was always safety in numbers and he didn't think Milady would try anything in such a crowded place.

* * *

Marcel yawned as he waited in the quiet laneway. He was beginning to think that she wasn't coming and was almost ready to head back to the garrison. Suddenly she appeared out of the darkness as if she had just materialized there. He jumped with fright and she smiled at his reaction. The coins in her hand glinted in the moonlight and he stared at them longingly. He had never known such wealth in his life as he had received from her hand. And yet something about her frightened him as well. The light of her smile did not reach her eyes.

She pulled the hood of her cloak around her face, even though the night was too warm for a cloak. A dark ringlet of hair slipped out as she leaned forward and he smelled a faint scent of something flowery.

"Tomorrow afternoon, you will slip this one under Athos' door. Do _not _be seen. Understood?"

He felt her eyes boring into his face and he swallowed hard. His voice disappeared and all he could manage was a nod as he took the parchment from her hand. He had no idea what the scribbles on the paper said, but they were worth the coin they brought.

"Good." She dropped the coins into his hand and before he knew it she was gone. Somehow she seemed to fade into the shadows and a part of him wondered briefly if she was not really human. She had a quality about her that defied description. Whatever it was, she definitely scared him.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you once again for your encouragement and messages. It's very cool to know that other people understand where you are coming from. My horse was my best friend when I was a kid and I think d'Artagnan's horse was all he had left before meeting the Musketeers. Somehow I seemed to have once again found d'Artagnan relating well to kids, which was not planned, but just seems to work. I liked writing this chapter better than the last one, but don't be fooled that all is well. I ain't done yet!

**Chapter Eight**

Treville scratched at the back of his neck as he contemplated the idea. He was furious that the King still would not want d'Artagnan back on rotation and it rankled that the young man was being left looking like a failure, when the Captain knew he had done nothing wrong. Louis' fickle nature was not to be trifled with or pushed and Treville knew he simply had to bide his time and find the right opening. In the meantime he could not simply let his newest recruit sit on the sidelines and do nothing. He needed to restore the lad's confidence amongst the other men and putting him to work was the best way to do that.

He walked out onto the balcony and cast an eye across the courtyard below. Athos was off to one side; absorbed in whatever he was doing. From above, it appeared that he was cleaning a weapon and Treville wondered why he was doing it alone. Usually the four men were near each other, no matter what they were doing. He sighed as he wondered again how much damage the saboteur had actually done. It surprised him that Athos had been so pigheaded about it and it seemed that Aramis and Porthos had not managed to clear the air. He frowned at the stubborn man sitting below and he determined that he would be having that particular discussion later in the day.

He couldn't see Aramis anywhere, but Porthos and d'Artagnan leaned against a railing as they finished up their breakfast. Treville almost called out from his vantage point, but suddenly felt the need to go down to them instead. He descended the stairs and saw Athos note his arrival with a nod. His lieutenant seemed surprised as he continued over to where the other two were standing.

"D'Artagnan, I have an errand for you."

Athos was on his feet and standing behind the Captain before he even realised it. The cleaning rag was still firmly clenched in his fist. The last thing he wanted was d'Artagnan being sent out alone where he was vulnerable and completely unaware of it. The difficulty was going to be stopping that from happening without giving any clue to anybody that there was a problem. He had no doubt whatsoever that his wife truly did have eyes and ears in places she should not and he would not risk his friend's life on underestimating her reach.

It was a simple job and d'Artagnan should only be gone a couple of hours. Still, five minutes was all Milady needed to bring death and utter devastation into his life as he knew from bitter experience. He felt his stomach clench into a knot as his mind scrambled for a solution. Without anything coming to mind, he was left to watch helplessly as d'Artagnan made his way towards the stable to ready his horse.

Porthos locked eyes with Treville and the two of them noted the strange look on Athos's face. He seemed distressed and yet only moments before he had deliberately kept himself away from his friends. Before either of them could say anything, the quiet of the morning was shattered by terrified shouts. The sound was coming from the stable and all three of them sprinted across the practice yard, followed closely by several others.

* * *

D'Artagnan had wanted to argue with Treville and tell him he could not go on any errand as he needed to stay put. Of course, there was no way he could do anything of the sort without revealing things that needed to stay hidden. Athos' life depended on his silence and there was no way he would endanger his friend. He gave himself some small measure of comfort that odds were likely Athos would spend the day with Aramis and Porthos at least. He prayed as he walked into the stable that it would be a quiet day at court and they could stay near the garrison.

As he searched out Marcel in the gloomy area, he sensed danger before his mind understood what it was. He heard the horse's frantic movements before he could see where it was and he ran around to the next lot of stalls. A grey mare was rearing back, trying desperately to break free from her confines. What he could not see was what was spooking her. It didn't matter though because he only had seconds to free her before she did some serious damage to herself. He had seen it before where a spooked horse had reared and bucked in a confined area and it had not ended well. The horse had broken its leg and was eventually shot. Horses did not survive such injuries.

As he moved across towards her, he was horrified to see Marcel pinned against the inside of the stall trying desperately to avoid being crushed. The horse was alternating between rearing on her hind legs and kicking back with those same powerful legs. The timber of the stall was beginning to splinter against the force of her kicks. Marcel seemed frozen in fear as the giant horse came within inches of his face.

D'Artagnan yanked at the half-broken railing that kept the horse from backing out of the stall and he flung it aside. The terrified animal reared again and time seemed to slow as he could see she would strike at where the boy was huddled. Without thinking, he scrambled towards the boy and grabbed at him, wrapping him into his arms and pulling him backwards, away from danger.

Athos ran into the stable in time to see one the horse's front hooves crash into d'Artagnan's back as she fought wildly to escape. The force threw him forwards into the wall and he sagged against it with Marcel still tucked against his chest. Treville had snagged a rope from somewhere and fashioned a makeshift lasso to toss towards the horse's head. On the second try he managed to get it around her neck and tugged urgently to pull her backwards out of the stall. She kept trying to rear up and it took both him and Porthos to calm the frightened animal sufficiently to settle her in an empty stall.

"D'Artagnan!"

Athos ran forward and grabbed at d'Artagnan as his body slumped over onto the ground. A chill ran through to the core of his being as his first thought was that his young friend was dead. He had no idea how she could have engineered such a thing, but his wife's plans had apparently played out before his eyes. She had stolen another brother from him and he had been helpless to stop her.

Marcel wriggled out from under d'Artagnan's arm and tried to stop the tears streaming down his face. He was shaking violently and he dropped onto the floor. He couldn't make himself move at all to check on his saviour, but he could see Athos and eventually Aramis, who had appeared from somewhere, trying to rouse their friend. Blood stained the side of his face and he was limp against Athos' chest. Aramis was running fingers across his head, searching for the details of his injury. A corresponding bloodstain on the wood above them made it crystal clear what had happened.

Eventually d'Artagnan began to stir and tried to push himself up. He felt arms holding him back and his head throbbed painfully. The images in front of him swam back and forth and melted into a blur. D'Artagnan shook his head to clear his vision and cried out as pain speared through his head. Athos wrapped his arms tighter around his friend and held on. He was trying desperately to squash the fear that threatened to choke him alongside the guilt that kept telling him it was all his fault. D'Artagnan would not be in any danger at all if he had just been man enough to finish what he had started.

"Sit still. Let Aramis finish checking your head." The calm voice in his ear helped ease his racing heart and d'Artagnan allowed himself to be examined without argument. He felt Aramis' breath on his face as the man leaned in closer to check his injuries. Suddenly a thought leaped up at him and he grabbed at Aramis' shirt.

"Marcel! Where is he?"

""e's right here. "e's fine. A little shook up, but not hurt." D'Artagnan could not see where Porthos' voice was coming from and could not see Marcel for himself, but he trusted his friend's assessment.

"You, on the other hand, are not." Aramis looked up to towards Athos and frowned.

"Help me get him up. I can't see clearly in here, but that head wound needs needlework."

He looked back towards d'Artagnan. "Can you stand?"

D'Artagnan looked at his friend and noted the blurred edge to his vision. He knew he would need help to stand and certainly didn't think he could walk unaided. He felt Athos' arms still wound across his chest and barely nodded. The movement made him close his eyes against the sudden nausea.

Somehow, between the two of them, Aramis and Athos managed to maneuver him to his feet and d'Artagnan felt his body sway alarmingly. The sensation of the world being tilted made his stomach swirl again and he clamped a hand across his mouth.

"If you leave your breakfast on my boots, you will be cleaning them!" Aramis always managed to find something funny in even the most dire of situations and d'Artagnan tried to smile back at him. He had no intention of embarrassing himself in such a manner and he felt himself being tugged out of the stall and towards the door. He caught a glimpse of Marcel sitting off to one side with Porthos' hand on his shoulder. The boy still looked shaken.

"Are you all right?"

Marcel managed a nod as the man who had just saved his life was half carried out into the sunlight. A crowd of men had gathered at the entrance and d'Artagnan was stunned to see smiling faces and nods of respect coming his way as he exited the stable. He felt his friends' strong arms holding him up as his feet struggled to walk in a straight line, but something swelled in his chest at the greeting from the rest of the garrison. The dishonour of the last few days had somehow been washed away.

With unspoken agreement, Aramis and Athos led d'Artagnan towards his quarters. Treville hurried ahead of them to open the door and had already issued instructions for water and Aramis' things to be brought there. By the time they arrived, several men were waiting outside and ready to help. D'Artagnan felt his vision blurring over again and he sagged onto the bed with gratitude. Somehow he had kept his stomach under control, but he was under no illusions that it may still rebel.

Athos had a tight grip on his arm as he leaned back against the wall and he was grateful for the sense of grounding it brought. A sudden flush of fear spread across his chest and he sucked in a deep breath. He could not contemplate losing this man from his life! It would be like losing his father all over again. He squeezed his eyes shut to banish the thought and Athos leaned forward in alarm.

"What is it?" He had seen the sudden reaction and feared that the head injury was more serious than first thought.

Aramis had been collecting what he needed and he spun around towards them as he heard the concern in Athos' voice.

"It just hurts."

The answer was true, but he could not explain the hurt in his heart was far worse than the pounding in his head. For the moment it was safer to allow them to think what they would.

Aramis perched on the edge of the bed and began to clean the wound with a cloth. The blood was still oozing slightly and much of it had encrusted itself to the side of his face. An ugly bruise was forming down the length of his cheek and Aramis kept watching his eye movement closely as he worked. The wound itself would be a fairly straightforward stitching job and he was relieved to see it was not very deep. Before he began though, he held up his hand in front of d'Artagnan's face.

"How many fingers?"

"Three."

"Good. Now, keep your head still and follow my finger." He waved a finger slowly back and forth and noted the pinched look on d'Artagnan's face as he tried to follow it.

"Hmmm."

Athos frowned at the non-committal comment, but Aramis just continued to gather his needle and thread.

He poured some cleansing alcohol onto the wound and d'Artagnan hissed through his teeth.

"This will hurt, but I will try to be quick." Aramis could see the look of trust on his friend's face and he smiled as Athos instinctively moved closer. Whatever had been wrong between the two of them for the last few days had been swept away. It was not an ideal way to resolve issues, but he was grateful to pull something positive from the scenario.

Porthos leaned on the doorframe and watched. Marcel seemed to have attached himself to the big man and he could still feel the tremors under his hand resting on the boy's shoulder. Suddenly Marcel began feeling under his shirt and with no explanation, he ran from the room. Porthos seemed torn between waiting and chasing after him. He could see that Aramis had things well in hand and something about Marcel resonated with him. The boy had obviously seen tough times in his short life. He turned and ran from the room, only to see Marcel heading for the stable.

By the time he caught up, Marcel was on his knees, scrabbling in the straw of the damaged stall. Tears streaked his face as he searched frantically for something. Suddenly he stopped dead and began to scramble backwards. Porthos caught a glimpse of what he was staring at and began to pull his pistol from his belt, before he realised he didn't need it. A viper lay half buried in the straw. Instantly he knew what had spooked the horse. They were not uncommon at this time of year and sometimes got in under the walls where there were cracks in the timber. As he looked closer, he could see the horse had clearly trampled it in her panicked state and it was most definitely dead.

Marcel looked up as Porthos knelt down beside him. "What are you looking for?"

The boy blanched as he struggled to find an answer. The gaze of the man in front him did not waver from his face and he felt fear drowning him. He swallowed a gulp of air and Porthos leaned closer. He knew that look all too well. It was the one he had seen countless times in the Court when somebody was caught out stealing or picking pockets. He had worn it himself. The boy was hiding something, although he had no idea what it could be.

Marcel looked down and tried to think. He knew he could not outsmart the man and there was no way he could outrun him. As he searched desperately for an answer, he caught sight of the letter he had dropped. If he could just get the man out of the stall, perhaps he could come back later for it.

Unfortunately for him, Porthos was about ten steps ahead of him and noted where the boy's eyes had looked already. He reached over for the piece of parchment that was half buried in the straw.

"This what you are lookin' for?" He waved the paper in the air and watched as the boy began to sob. As he turned it over in his hand he could see writing on the front.

"Why do you have a letter for Athos?" The growl in his voice was barely restrained as he felt his gut react. Something was very wrong and he intended to get a full answer.

* * *

Aramis finished cleaning up before sitting back on the bed again. "I saw that horse connect with your back. I need to check you out. Can you lean forward for me?"

He could see d'Artagnan was already on the edge and he knew the forward movement would probably send him over. Still, he needed to know the extent of the injury as a horse had a powerful kick.

Without speaking, he swapped places with Athos and eased their young friend forward into Athos' firm grasp. He could see mud and stains across the back of his shirt, along with a clear hoofprint. As he lifted the fabric, he let out a low whistle. A clear, half-crescent welt was imprinted across d'Artagnan's left shoulder. He prodded gently and felt around the area. Relief flooded through his mind as he noted that nothing was broken. A few inches lower and a blow like that would have been enough to crack ribs or even worse, stop his heart. He could feel the reaction to his prodding and he gently lowered the shirt back down. Athos looked at him in expectation and he smiled.

"There is nothing broken, although that is going to take some time to heal. I will dress it with some salve to help." He laid a hand on d'Artagnan's arm as he stood up. "You have been very lucky my friend. This could have ended up far worse."

D'Artganan sagged back against the wall, fighting the spinning in his head.

"I couldn't just let him die." He words were just a whisper and Treville felt pride swelling in his chest. It was not the first time the young man had charged in to save somebody else. He had been on the receiving end of the same sentiment.

"You need to rest, and as I'm sure you have a concussion, you need somebody with you until I say otherwise."

Nobody was surprised that Athos was the first to respond. "I'll stay."


	9. Chapter 9

For those of you who thought things were looking up last chapter, where's the fun in that? Thank you for letting me know you are following and what you think as it helps shape the story.

**Chapter Nine**

"I asked you a question!"

Marcel shrank back against the railing as he tried to think what to tell the angry man towering in front of him. The pretty lady had made it crystal clear that if he got caught she would know and the money would end. He felt a wave of undefined fear wash over him and he shuddered. Something else had been implied, but he was not yet worldly enough to be able to understand it. He just knew that something about her frightened him.

Porthos waved the letter in front of him and tried to restrain the anger rolling up from his gut. He could not explain it, but his long ingrained instincts were on high alert.

"Tell me the truth! Don't lie to me boy 'cause I _will_ know!"

Marcel found himself quaking in fright and could not make himself speak. His eyes began to water again as he stared at the ground.

"My friend just risked his life to save yours. Now, somethin' funny is goin' on here and you _are _goin' to tell me! For the last time …. why do you have a letter for Athos?"

"She told me to put it under his door, this afternoon." The words were barely a whisper.

"Who?"

"Uh … I don't know … I don't know her name. She … she's the one who got me this place."

Porthos frowned at the boy in confusion. "Treville said the smithy recommended you. Said you were 'is nephew."

"I don't have any family. She said she wanted me to come and work here and she'd look after me if I did as she asked."

Porthos felt the light going on as he began to piece several things together.

"Somebody wanted you working here and made that happen somehow. But if that's true then how …"

The question died on his lips as the obvious conclusion to that thought was that Jacques' accident had not been an accident after all. Somebody had almost killed the lad in order to plant Marcel in his place.

"This lady … what does she look like?"

"Dark hair, pretty …. scary green eyes!"

Porthos felt the solid ground under his heels shift a little as the boy's words sunk in.

It couldn't be!

And yet, he knew in his heart that it most definitely was.

He lifted the letter closer to his face and stared at it. He would never have decided to read it if it had not been for Athos' strange, distracted behaviour in the tavern a few nights earlier. He had repeatedly pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, just the same as the one in his hand. He flipped the paper open and suddenly found himself wanting to roar in fury.

_You must agree by now that you truly deserve each other. Just as I once held Thomas' life, I hold his life in my hands. You will never see me coming until it is too late. If you wish to spare him, then surrender yourself in his place. Remember, if you speak just one word of this, the offer is revoked and he will surely die in agony. His death will be on your head. Sleep well my love._

Porthos looked over the top of the paper and glared at Marcel. "Do you know what's in this?"

The terrified boy shook his head vigorously. He had already accepted the money trail was now gone, but he was beginning to wonder just how ugly it was going to get. The angry musketeer was enough to make him weak at the knees.

"I don't know my letters."

There was no doubt in his mind that Athos' estranged wife was behind the letter and he felt his gut twisting in anger. Clearly this was not the first such letter she had sent him and he wondered what else she had already said. Equally clearly, she had set her sights on one of them in order to taunt Athos. Given recent events, there was only one logical conclusion as to who that was. The part that truly horrified him was that Athos had not so much as said a word about it and the reason why was sickening. All of them had been shocked at the depth of Milady's depravity when Athos had finally revealed how she had left him to burn to death in his ancestral home. The fact it was d'Artagnan who had pulled him clear would not have earned him any favour in her eyes.

Porthos leaned forward as he rubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. If he allowed the boy to leave, then Milady would know her scheme had been discovered. If he went to Athos prematurely and told him what he knew, there was no knowing what he could unleash. But he could not sit back and simply wait.

"She was paying you, wasn't she?"

Marcel nodded miserably. Porthos looked at the scrawny boy in front of him and knew that had it been him at that age, he would have jumped at the prospect of a wealthy benefactor. He couldn't blame the boy for trying to survive in a harsh world and there was no place harsher than the dirty streets of Paris if you were an orphaned child. He knew that he would probably regret it, but he decided to try to appeal to the boy's honour.

"My friend risked his own life to save you today. I think you owe him." Before Marcel could respond, Porthos leaned in and grasped his shirt front. "I know who the lady is and you are going to do exactly what I tell you. Understand?"

Marcel felt relief flood him to the core. He had expected a thrashing as he would have received if he had failed this badly in the court. The truth was, he liked the young musketeer who had befriended him. The fact he had stepped in and pulled him clear of the horse tugged at the edge of his conscience. He truly had no idea what was in the letters he had been delivering, but it was obviously not good.

"You will deliver this letter, just the way you were supposed to."

Marcel looked at Porthos with a clear look of confusion on his face. "But … it will only make him angry again."

"Let me deal with Athos. You just need to be seen doing as you're told."

Marcel nodded slowly and began to stand up.

"When you see 'er again, you say _nothing_ about what we've talked about! You can tell 'er about the horse and how d'Artagnan saved you. You say nothing to anybody but me. Got it?"

The look on his face had softened a little, but Marcel was under no illusions that he had been forgiven. He had merely been given a stay of execution to see if he could make amends.

Porthos slumped back against the wall as he watched the wretched child hurry out the door. He felt his gut churning at the thought he had just sanctioned adding to Athos' burden by having the letter delivered. He couldn't think of any other way to keep Milady getting suspicious and he needed time to think. He also knew that allowing Marcel to tell her about the incident with the horse would test how deep her sources went. If she had anybody inside the garrison, she would know about it by the time Marcel told her. Her reaction would help him decide what to do next.

He shoved away from the wall and growled in anger. Aramis had been right when he said somebody was out to make things difficult for d'Artagnan. Neither of them could have possibly guessed the half of it though.

* * *

Athos watched as d'Artagnan struggled to keep his eyes open. Aramis was still packing away his things and had his back turned, but Athos knew exactly what he was going to say anyway. A head injury needed to be monitored and the patient should not be allowed to sleep for at least a few hours.

The adrenaline had long since worn off and d'Artagnan was beginning to feel the ill-effects of his injuries. His head throbbed as if the horse had kicked him there instead and his shoulder made it difficult to get comfortable. The one positive he could draw from his current situation was that Athos seemed to have firmly planted himself by his bed and that meant his safety was ensured for a while longer. It felt strange that he could actually keep his friend safe because of his own injuries.

Finally Aramis tied up the last bundle of supplies and gathered them up together. While he would never have wished an injury on anybody, he was relieved to see that Athos was so concerned and attentive. He could not fathom what had been going on in his friend's head for the last few weeks, but whatever it was, it seemed to be gone. He would normally have stayed and kept an eye on his patient, but for some reason, he felt it would help to give them some time alone.

"Make sure he doesn't fall asleep for at least another couple of hours. I'll be back soon to check on him." Aramis turned back to where d'Artagnan was spread across the bed.

"And you, don't give him any grief!" The instruction came out in a serious tone, but d'Artagnan could see the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Never!"

Aramis laughed outright and nodded towards Athos as he headed for the door. The world was being set right again. Before he could open the door, it was yanked open from the outside and Porthos strode into the room.

"I found out what spooked the horse. There's a dead viper in the bottom of the stall. Must 'ave got in under the back wall."

Athos stared at the floor as his friend's comments sunk in. Had it really been as simple as that? He had been so tightly wound up focusing on his wife's treachery that he had assumed she had been responsible. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not as she was still making threats and now d'Artagnan was even less physically able to defend himself. At least if he was confined to his room with a guard to keep watch, he was a little more secure.

* * *

Aramis had been true to his word that he would return to check on his patient and after the second time in two hours he was satisfied that it would be safe to allow him to sleep. He was a little surprised that d'Artagnan had made no objection to Athos staying when the others were clearly leaving. Normally he would have been very vocal to say that he didn't need a nursemaid or something to that effect. Aramis wasn't sure what to make of it, but eventually decided it was one less problem to deal with.

Athos leaned forward and finally felt some of the day's tension easing away. He would have normally felt self conscious to be sitting and watching as somebody else slept, but today was different. Today, he would not be anywhere else.

D'Artagnan had finally slipped into an uneasy sleep as he struggled to find a comfortable place on the bed. The smell of Aramis' salve tainted the air with its hint of herbs. Athos frowned at the deep bruising spreading down the side of his friend's face. He watched as something else flickered under the bruising. Clearly the lad was dreaming and it didn't take much to understand it wasn't good. Athos felt his mind wandering as his own sleep over recent nights had been filled with violent, blood-drenched images.

He was startled out of his reverie as he heard his name being called. D'Artagnan's face was creased in fear as he continued to call out. Athos reached out and grasped his forearm firmly.

"Wake up! D'Artagnan! Wake up." The urgency increased until he managed to get a response.

D'Artagnan bolted upright on the bed. Pain rolled through him, but his mind was screaming.

Athos was dead!

He felt something tugging at his arm and he tried to shrug it off. Something else pulled at his face and he twisted against it. Suddenly a face registered in his line of vision and his heart skipped a beat.

"Athos?" The fear-filled whisper escaped before he could stop it.

"Yes. It's all right. You were just dreaming."

Athos watched closely as the stupor of the dream began to dissipate. D'Artagnan stared at him, as if he would disappear. He could barely breathe as he tried to determine if he had just inadvertently let something out of the bag. He would never forgive himself if he had, because he knew Athos' honour would force him to hunt down his wife.

Finally he sagged back against the pillow and let the pain wash over him. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. Athos still had a firm grip on his arm and he wondered what could have roused such fear in his usually fearless young friend.

For his part, D'Artagnan pulled away and covered his eyes with his hand. Athos was left staring at his back as d'Artagnan seemed to shut down right in front of him.


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you so much for your continuing interest and encouragement. My head keeps going off on different tangents in this story and I have a million notes in my chapter log. Trust me when I tell you that reader input has helped shape this story from where I originally started. In fact, it saves lives! Immie8, he does thank you :-)

**Chapter Ten**

It had been a stressful day for all of them and as Aramis exited d'Artagnan's room for the second time, he caught sight of his friend. He watched as Porthos alternated between sitting on the stairs and getting up and pacing across the practice yard. It was unusual to see Porthos so agitated and he rushed over to reassure him.

"He's going to be fine. I just needed to give him a bit of time before letting him sleep, that's all. To make sure the concussion is not too bad."

Porthos paused midstep and looked up.

"What?"

"I said, d'Artagnan will be fine. He's got Athos practically sitting on him so he won't be getting up and doing anything stupid. He's also got a tough head!" The grin was intended to be reassuring, but somehow it seemed to have missed the mark.

"Porthos?"

The big man shook his head and ran both hands through his hair. The scowl on his face made Aramis step forward. He didn't notice as Marcel wandered off down the alley past the garrison gate, but Porthos had seen him leave.

"What is it?"

"Nothing!" Porthos pulled up short as he remembered he was out in a public place and others were milling around the area. He felt sick at the idea that a fellow musketeer could have any involvement in Milady's schemes, but until he knew for sure, he was not willing to risk finding out the hard way. He needed to rein himself in.

"I just …. when I saw 'im …. I thought …." He shook his head as if the action would clear the memory.

Aramis reached over and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know. I did tell you he was going to be fine though."

Porthos nodded at him and smiled. "He'll be fine, yeah."

The fake smile seemed to pacify Aramis' concerns, but it did nothing to settle his own. Porthos felt a heavy weight settle on him as he could envisage the boy pushing the foul letter under his friend's door. It twisted his insides to know he was partially responsible for what was coming and he hated the idea that Athos would suffer any further. His mind was turning over various ideas, but nothing leaped out that seemed to be a possible answer. He could see Aramis' concern written plainly on his face and he wondered how he could find a way to privately share the burden with his friend. Perhaps, between the two of them, they could find a way to stop Milady's sick plans before anything else happened.

Before either of them could say anything further, Treville walked out onto the landing outside his office and called down to the two of them. Aramis headed straight for the stairs and Porthos was only a step behind him. He smiled slightly as he felt that maybe Providence was on his side. There was nothing unusual in them being summonsed to the Captain's office and nobody would think anything of it. He felt lighter with each step he took up to the landing.

By the time they entered the office, Porthos felt himself shaking. Whether or not it was rage or fear he could not define. Whatever the case, he felt relieved.

Treville was leaning against his desk as Aramis walked in first. "How's d'Artagnan doing now?"

"I left him with Athos a while ago. I felt they could do with some time to talk, without us around. Although last I checked, he looked pretty sleepy. He'll be fine though, with some rest."

Treville simply nodded. He had planned to pull Athos in for a conversation anyway, but it seemed he had been spared the trouble. They had all seen his reaction when he saw d'Artagnan slump to the ground in the stable.

"Good idea. I don't know what's been going on there, but I think …."

"I _do_ know! At least some of it."

Both men turned towards Porthos who was standing apart from them. He had his fists clenched and he looked furious.

"What do you know?"

The Captain watched closely as Porthos began to pace across the space in front of his desk. It was most uncharacteristic of the usually laid-back man.

"Porthos?" Aramis moved over to stop his friend's pacing and found himself face to face with fury. "What's going on? What do you know?"

"I know that Athos should have slit 'is wife's throat in that alleyway!"

The words were low and cold and Aramis flinched at the hatred in them. They had each agreed that Athos could not have lived with himself if he had done anything of the kind that day. Sentencing her to hang had been born of grief and duty, but that day had been different. Their friend had chosen to show mercy and his soul had been cut free from hers by his actions. He was nothing like her and never would be. It was clear to his friends that his ultimate torture was the fact a small part of him still loved her.

Treville had moved around to stand beside Aramis and the two of them waited as Porthos seemed to gather his thoughts.

"She's back."

"What! How do you know?"

"Does Athos know?" Aramis cut in before Treville could get his answer.

Porthos slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand. "Oh 'e knows all right."

Aramis frowned in confusion. "You're sure?"

"She's back and she's threatening 'im!"

Treville felt the blood pounding in his ears. He couldn't bring himself to verbally acknowledge what he was hearing.

"With what? What do you mean, she's threatening him?" Aramis felt his stomach beginning to flip.

"You know the other night in the tavern … when he was bein' all strange and pullin' out that piece of paper over 'n over?"

Aramis simply nodded at him. He would prefer to forget that night, but they had both wondered what was going on with that letter.

"It was from her!"

"How do you know that?" Treville stared at him, but had no doubt at what the man was saying. Porthos had never lied to him before. Well, not about anything important.

"Because she sent 'im another one and I got to it before 'e did and I read it. I don't know how, but that witch has got her claws into 'im and she's threatening 'im."

"Then … why in the world would he have not told us?" Aramis could feel his blood pressure rising along with his confusion.

"Because she threatened to kill d'Artagnan if 'e opened 'is mouth! And make 'im suffer while she did it!"

Both Treville and Aramis stared at him as Porthos slowly nodded.

"'e loves that boy. She told 'im she'd do to 'im what she did to Thomas and nobody would see it coming."

Aramis staggered back and sagged against the desk. "Athos has been acting strangely for weeks. This … this distance between him and d'Artagnan made no sense. Until now! Mon Dieu! She would know that's his greatest weakness and only she would think to use it to attack him."

Treville scrubbed a hand across his chin and scratched at the back of his neck. He had known something was wrong with his lieutenant and had somehow failed to get to the bottom of it. He doubted Athos would have told him anyway, given the price of failure!

"These letters, they were coming through Marcel." As the two men stiffened in sudden understanding he held out a hand towards them.

"Can't say 's I blame the lad. I would have done the same thing when I was in 'is place. She knew who to use and how to use them. Money to a starving kid with no family to correct 'im, is too hard to pass up."

Treville felt his fists clench as he realised he had been duped into bringing the boy into his garrison.

"Where is he now?"

"I sent 'im to deliver that letter to Athos. Didn't want to tip off Milady that I was on to 'er."

Aramis was barely able to ask the next question that came to mind. He felt sick, just knowing who was behind it.

"What was in the letter?"

Porthos looked like he was going to explode.

"She said 'e could surrender himself in d'Artagnan's place."

Aramis found it suddenly very hard to swallow as he knew his friend would do exactly that. He would not allow his wife to take the life of another young man he loved and he would do whatever that would take to stop her.

"We have to stop him!"

"We will." Treville's response was calm and measured, but his eyes belied his anger. "But we need to tread carefully. We do not know how far Milady's reach extends."

"I told Marcel to tell 'er about the horse and d'Artagnan saving 'im. That way we can see how far 'er network goes and if there is anybody else inside the garrison, if she already knows about it."

"You trust him?"

Aramis could see the uncertainty on Treville's face, but he knew his friend would not have sent the boy off the way he did if he thought it may backfire on them. Too much depended on it.

"No! But 'e is too scared not to do what I told 'im. Besides, he had no idea what he was delivering. She set 'im up and used 'im. 'e'll be back in the morning."

"So for tonight we need to keep an eye on the both of them. Aramis, you need to make up something about keeping d'Artagnan under close watch and maybe we can get Athos to stay put there too."

Treville could barely contain the fury in his chest as he considered what had been happening under his nose.

"Easy enough to do. If Athos thinks d'Artagnan is in any danger, he won't be going anywhere. The hardest part will be not tripping up and letting on we know anything."

Aramis suddenly stopped short as something else occurred to him.

"Except for one problem. Athos needs to get that letter." His eyes glazed over as he considered the injury that letter would inflict on his friend's spirit. He felt sick to his stomach that Athos would be forced to consider such a thing. But there was no other option if they were to keep Milady off their trail.

Treville nodded as he had been thinking the same thing. "Then you need to watch d'Artagnan and Porthos, you need to get Athos out of that room."

"How? It's not like 'e's going to leave willingly."

The three of them stared at each other. It was really just basic battle strategy and all of them were skilled in that area. Except that this was nothing like any battle any of them had faced before.

* * *

Marcel had spent his entire life, as far back as he could remember, living by his wits. He had no memory of anybody who said they were kin in any way, although there were several that he thought of as brothers. From time to time, there had been other boys who were orphaned and alone who had banded together to survive. In some similar way, he understood the men who lived at the garrison. In the short time he had been there, he had been surprised at how much he liked it. Even though he knew, somewhere inside him, that the pretty lady did not have anything good in mind, it had not really bothered him as it seemed fairly harmless. Delivering letters in secret was not really bad. He had managed to convince himself of that until Porthos had gotten so angry.

He had a vague memory of a nun who had given him food a few times. She had a thing hanging around her neck that had fascinated him. She talked about somebody that had fed hungry people and taken care of others and that was why she became a nun. He didn't really care much about that; he was just happy to have a full belly. She had talked to him about something called his soul and he really didn't understand much of it. Except as he waited in the gloomy alleyway, for some reason he suddenly felt it was of vital importance. Maybe he would find another nun and ask her about it. Or maybe Aramis, since he had one of those funny things too.

He was startled out of his reverie by a figure appearing in front of him. She really could appear out of nowhere! The look on her face was serious and he gulped in fear. Rather than keep looking at her face, his eyes dropped lower. For the first time he noticed a chain and locket that swayed in front of her as she leaned over towards him. The oval spun slowly, almost hypnotically.

She noticed him looking at it and turned her head slightly. A frown creased her brow as she watched him.

"I have another letter for you to deliver." She held up the coin as she simultaneously waved the letter in front of him. "This one is for d'Artagnan. You will deliver it tonight."

Marcel gulped as he wondered how to tell her he could not do that without being caught.

"Is there a problem?" The voice purred at him, but it chilled him through.

"He's not going to be alone tonight. He got hurt and they are in his room."

She smiled at the revelation as it simply reinforced her thought that she had chosen the right messenger. "I'm glad you were honest with me. I hear that he saved your life."

Marcel nodded as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. The memory was still too fresh and the fear was still too real.

"You need to deliver it when he is alone. Nobody else must see it. Understood? Remember, if anybody catches you, this little arrangement will end. And they will be very swift to throw you out of their cosy little garrison."

Marcel nodded miserably and she smiled as she dropped the coin into his hand. She stood and watched as he ran from the alley. A shadow slipped out of the doorway and pulled her towards it.

"Well done. Very … well done."


	11. Chapter 11

Thank you so much for your ongoing support and encouragement with this story. I don't know about you, but the more I write of this the more I detest Milady! How did Athos ever get sucked in by her?

**Chapter Eleven**

Athos slumped onto the floor of his room and leaned his head against the wall. He felt the weight of despair crushing down on him and he closed his eyes. Never could he have imagined the insane cat and mouse game his wife had conjured up. The letter was scrunched up in his hand and he wanted to fling it away from him. Instead he pulled it closer, smoothed it out and read over it again. He could not afford to miss anything.

_You must agree by now that you truly deserve each other. Just as I once held Thomas' life, I hold his life in my hands. You will never see me coming until it is too late. If you wish to spare him, then surrender yourself in his place. Remember, if you speak just one word of this, the offer is revoked and he will surely die in agony. His death will be on your head. Sleep well my love._

Sleep!

There would be no sleep this night. His mind was stretched in a hundred different directions as his fears threatened to overwhelm him. He had no doubt whatsoever that Anne would do exactly as she had said she would. His heart told him to rush back to the garrison as swiftly as possible and surround d'Artagnan with a hundred musketeers. His mind told him that panic would be the cause of his death. If he appeared to have tipped anybody off then her threats would morph into reality and d'Artagnan would pay the price for his stupidity. Just as Thomas had paid the price for his blindness.

He threw his head forward onto his knees and wrapped a hand across his shoulder. The other hand shook violently as it scrunched up the offending piece of parchment. He longed to speak with his friends and find a way through this nightmare, but he knew his wife too well. She was totally capable of what she had threatened.

He wished, not for the first time, that d'Artagnan had never made the choice to return that fateful night. His worthless body would have burned and his home would have been his funeral pyre. A fitting end to a family line that was cursed. The last vestiges of his sins would have been wiped off the face of the Earth. Anne would have gone off to God knows where and d'Artagnan would never have been in her sights.

"Why did you have to come back?" He whispered the question into the empty room. Silence called back to him, but he already knew the answer. The boy's sense that something was wrong. His ingrained sense of duty. His misplaced loyalty to Athos. It all combined to conspire against him in the worst possible way.

_If you wish to spare him, then surrender yourself in his place._

The words rolled through his tortured mind and he found himself nodding. There was no question that he would give himself up in order to stop her murderous plans. He was responsible for creating the monster she had become. But how? Where? He had no idea of even when. No doubt the instructions would come. As much as he had come to hate the letters, there was one more he needed to see.

A part of him was furious that he had allowed Aramis to convince him to leave d'Artagnan to sleep, while another part was relieved not to have missed the latest letter. Who knew what could have happened if he had not seen it? Or worse, if somebody else had.

He remained seated on the floor for some time, trying to find a way through the schemes and lies to save his friend.

* * *

Aramis cleared the last of the items onto the tray and began to stand up. He was pleased that most of the food had been eaten and it boded well for a full recovery. He watched as d'Artagnan sagged back against the pillow and tried to keep his eyes open.

"You need to get some sleep. The draught I gave you should help with the pain."

Everything in him wanted to pull up a chair and stand guard for the night with his musket. Treville had told him not to stay the night as it may give away the game to whoever was watching and he had reluctantly agreed to the plan. Porthos had managed to drag Athos off with a false assignment to the palace and he knew that the man would have then returned to his quarters. He felt sick at what his friend would have walked into. His heart was heavy with concern as he looked towards the door.

"Is there anything else you need before I go?"

D'Artagnan shook his head slowly. "No, I'm fine, really."

Aramis paused and looked across the space between them. He seemed on the verge of saying something else before starting across the room again.

"Then I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well." He smiled as he left, but the instant he walked out the door the smile slid off his face. He caught sight of Porthos cleaning a pistol at a bench and he nodded. The tray needed to go back to Serge and he slowly made his way off to find the man.

Torches had been placed in sconces as the sun had begun to dip. He found himself actively searching out the shadows as he walked. It felt sickening to feel that they were not safe in their own garrison.

* * *

D'Artagnan awoke some time during the night. The candles had burned lower, but Aramis had left several lit in case he woke in the night. He moved across the bed without thinking and pain flared across his shoulder. It felt stiff and heavy and he leaned back against the bed and tried to control his breathing. It wasn't the first time he had been kicked by a horse and his mind wandered off to the time his father had been a fraction too slow to pull him back from danger. He had been twelve and thought he knew all there was to know about horses. His own arrogance had led to an almost broken leg when an unfamiliar horse had taken a dislike to him. It had kicked out from behind and his father had pulled him forwards enough to lessen the blow. Still, it had been extremely painful and his calf muscle had been swollen and sore for weeks. The one thing it did do for him, was instill a deeper respect for the animals and it brought his inflated self-confidence down a notch. He smiled as he recalled his father bringing him supper in bed, much as Aramis had done the evening before.

He wondered where Athos had gotten to after being called off to the palace with Porthos. He had wanted to stop them from going, but managed to clamp his mouth shut. Just.

Eventually he realised the reason he had woken up was because he needed the chamber pot. He tentatively raised himself up on to one elbow and waited for the room to settle down and stop spinning. His head was reminding him that it was still very bruised and he slowly pushed himself to his feet. What should have taken a few minutes, took far longer as he struggled to hold himself upright. Finally he was done and he wandered over to retrieve one of the candles. As he did so his breath caught in his throat. A single piece of folded parchment had been pushed under the door.

He felt his heart pounding wildly and the rush of blood caused his vision to blur over. He swayed on his feet as he lurched towards the door. Grabbing hold of the handle, he managed to steady himself before slowly bending down to pick it up. His fingers felt like they were burning as they touched the paper. He stumbled back to the bed and slumped down onto it before flipping open the paper.

_I told you once, choose the Musketeers and you choose oblivion. You chose the wrong path. You chose the wrong man. He deserves to be punished for his sins and you are the only one who can save him. If you wish to spare him, then surrender yourself in his place. Remember, if you speak just one word of this, the offer is revoked and he will surely die in agony. His death will be on your head. Sleep well my lover._

D'Artagnan felt himself gag as bile rose in his throat. He crumpled the paper in his hand and threw it across the room. The fact she had once seduced him was the lowest point of his life. Coming on the back of the loss of his father, his mind had not been in full control of his actions and his body had simply responded to a need for physical comfort. He had discovered much too late that she had a plan in mind to frame him for murder and the seduction had simply been a part of that. Over time, he had come to understand she was capable of anything and her depravity knew no limits. She certainly knew nothing of love.

It wasn't the first time he had wondered how Athos had come to be taken in by her and fallen in love with her. How did the man he considered to be the epitome of honour become ensnared by such a manipulative witch? He knew the answer to that, but his stomach revolted at the thought of how she had sought to ensnare him too in her web of lies. The thought that Constance had almost paid the price for that made him double over in distress. He could not allow her to take Athos from him. The question was, where? And when? He had no doubt that she would let him know. He just hoped he had the strength to do what he must.

* * *

Marcel was curled up in the straw in the corner of the empty stall. He had long since cried himself to sleep. He had stayed out for hours to make sure that nobody could possibly see him deliver the letter under d'Artagnan's door. On the way back to the garrison he realised that even though Porthos had guessed about the letters for Athos, he had been too frightened and distracted to tell him the rest of the story. The fact the pretty lady knew about the horse nearly trampling him just confirmed what Porthos had asked him to do. He felt sick that she had sucked him into doing something so wrong. He wasn't really sure what was so wrong about it, but the place in his chest the nun had told him about felt really sick. It wasn't like he cared about any of them, but the men in the garrison had been kind to him and fed him every day. For the first time in his life he felt almost connected somewhere. And somehow he had destroyed all of that for himself. He had no idea if he could do anything to fix it or not, but he resolved to at least try. As soon as he saw Porthos he would tell the big man about the latest letter.

* * *

She sat on the windowsill of the room she had rented and smiled to herself. The curtain fluttered in the light breeze and she enjoyed the sense of danger that such a flimsy barrier provided. If he just looked up he may see her. The candle was still burning in the room across the street. It was a warm night and the shutters were pushed open. From the second floor she could not make out any details, but she could see the shadow that passed back and forth across the room as the candlelight was blocked out. There was no way he was going to sleep well this night. Neither was she, but that was more from delicious anticipation than anything else. Her heart raced in her chest as she absently twirled the locket in her fingers. The tiny blue forget-me-nots spun into her sight every time the locket turned.

"I will never forget what you did," she whispered into the darkness. "And it's time to make you pay the price, my love."


	12. Chapter 12

Once again, this story is taking over my life! Creativity strikes at the most inconvenient times. Anyway, thanks again for all your feedback and interest. I love hearing what you think about it.

**Chapter Twelve**

Aramis raised a hand to knock on the door. He was surprised when it opened only seconds later. He had expected d'Artagnan may still be sleeping, but it was clear the young man had been up for some time as he was already dressed in his breeches and boots. His eyes betrayed his lack of sleep however and Aramis wondered if he should have stayed overnight after all.

"May I come in?"

d'Artagnan simply nodded at him and stepped back to allow him to enter.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

Aramis watched with concern as d'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders and walked away from him. The deep welt across his shoulder stood out as a glaring reminder of the day before. Any other time the younger man had sustained any kind of injury he would be champing at the bit to prove he was fit for service, often well before he actually was. The fact he wasn't, was cause for extra attention.

"Is your head bothering you?"

"I'm fine. I just didn't sleep well."

Aramis pointed towards the bed and nodded. "Sit down, let me take a look at you."

As he unwound the bandage from d'Artagnan's head he frowned. The bruising was coming out in all its glory and the eyelid was swollen almost closed. The stitches were holding well however and he was happy to see there was no sign of infection in the wound. After applying some salve to the area he gently wrapped a fresh bandage around it again and tied it off.

"And now for your back. How does your shoulder feel?"

D'Artagnan edged around on the bed so Aramis could inspect his back. The angry red welt had swollen overnight and the skin was stretched taut. Bruising spread out in all directions and Aramis could see why sleep would have been difficult. No matter which way his friend lay on the bed, something would have hurt. He spread a little more salve onto the injury and stepped back.

"It will be a while yet before you can swing a blade or fire a pistol with that arm. I don't think you should be riding for a few days either. Give your shoulder time to heal without straining it."

D'Artagnan nodded miserably at him, but did not argue. The silent compliance had Aramis seriously worried. It was totally out of character and he would normally have to be threatening to bring the Captain into it to keep his young friend down.

"Is anything else bothering you? You seem more than tired."

"I'm fine, really. Thank you for taking care of … of all this." His hands waved in the air as he stood up and went in search of a shirt. Aramis watched as d'Artagnan struggled to pull the fabric over his head and he winced in sympathy.

"Ready for breakfast?"

"Mmmm. Sure."

Something was wrong and Aramis could not define what it was. He watched as d'Artagnan strode across the room and he followed behind him. He made a mental note to ask Porthos to keep an eye out as he followed his friend across the practice yard. The smell of fresh bread wafted across on the morning breeze and his stomach growled in response.

Porthos was already sitting at a bench, making his way through a bowl of something. Athos stood off to one side, a half-eaten bagel in one hand and a vacant stare on his face. Porthos was watching him closely while pretending to be absorbed in his breakfast. His stomach churned as he knew the cause of that look. He knew, without having to turn to look, the instant d'Artagnan came into Athos' line of sight. His friend stiffened against the wall, his eyes closed as if he were in pain and then a mask dropped over his face.

Both Aramis and d'Artagnan headed for the food laid out on the table and scooped up a bowl each before settling on the bench seats. It did not escape either Porthos or Aramis that Athos silently moved to sit next to d'Artagnan as he sat down. Porthos had to force down an angry comment and he shoveled a spoonful of food into his mouth instead.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Athos watched as d'Artagnan moved stiffly to reach for his food.

"I'm fine. Head's a bit sore still, but I'm fine."

The rest of breakfast went slowly as each of them was absorbed in their own concerns and thoughts.

Marcel hovered in the doorway of the stable and wondered how he was supposed to get the attention of the big man across the yard. He felt his stomach doing flips as he considered how much trouble he would be in for keeping yet more secrets. It wasn't like he could just walk across the yard and talk to them. He watched as they sat and ate breakfast. Other musketeers had come and gone for food as well and he considered going across for his own. He didn't think he could keep anything down anyway and he turned back into the stable.

Suddenly a loud noise caught his attention and he realised somebody was shouting. He ran out the door just in time to see a couple of red guards fly into the yard. Before either could dismount, they were calling for Treville.

Marcel watched as Treville came rushing down the stairs from his office and headed straight for the two men. An urgent conversation took place that he couldn't hear. Athos and his friends had already hurried over to their captain and suddenly there was a flurry of activity around them. He could see them coming towards him and he scurried inside to gather their gear. It was clear they were coming for their horses and he knew what they would need.

Treville strode into the stable with d'Artagnan by his side. The young man looked furious.

"You are in no condition to be riding, according to Aramis. You need to stay here."

As his friends hurried to saddle horses, d'Artagnan stood off to one side and glared at his captain. There was nothing he could say to argue and nothing he could do to change the decision.

Treville turned back and clamped a hand on the young man's good shoulder. "I'm sorry. This is no reflection on you. With this new threat to the Cardinal we need to act immediately. You are simply not fit for duty this morning. "

He watched as d'Artagnan's face reflected his frustration. " And one more thing. I need you to stay in the garrison today. Your injuries need to heal. No wandering off to visit anybody, understood?"

Athos kept his mouth shut as d'Artagnan nodded. The urgent summons from the guards had set his mind reeling as he tried desperately to find a reasonable excuse to keep d'Artagnan from leaving the garrison. The fact Treville had inadvertently done it for him, allowed him to breathe a little easier.

Marcel watched as the men mounted their horses and raced out into the street. D'Artagnan ignored him as he strode past the boy and headed out into the practice yard. Even though men were already at work in the area, it suddenly felt completely empty. He stared at the target boards and felt his chest constrict. Athos had just ridden out without him with no idea he was under any kind of threat. The road to the palace was narrow, winding streets for much of the journey. The perfect place for an ambush. The fact his friend was with three of the best soldiers he could be with was the only thing keeping him from saddling a horse and chasing after them.

* * *

It was over an hour later when a second pair of red guards rode into the garrison. D'Artagnan had spent the morning practicing his knife throwing since it only required one arm and there was nothing else to do. The target ahead of him had taken a beating as he had taken out his frustration on the wood. Denier and a couple of others had noticed the young recruit and knew all too well the feeling of being left behind due to an injury. Denier wandered across and watched the knife throwing and was impressed with what he saw. The accuracy had improved markedly since the lad had arrived and he whistled in appreciation as a third knife hit its target.

D'Artagnan stalked across to the target and wrenched the knives free. Denier frowned as the young man seemed to be in pain. He knew d'Artagnan was right-handed, but he was pulling at the knives with both hands. He'd heard Treville tell him to stay behind as he still needed to heal and he knew that left shoulder must be causing the pain. He stepped forward and was about to say something when the two guards rode through the gate. In the absence of both Treville and Athos, it was up to him to see what they wanted.

"Your captain wants d'Artagnan to come to the palace, immediately!"

The guard's brusque manner did not bother him, but the thundercloud on d'Artagnan's face did. He had no idea the fear the request had stirred up.

D'Artagnan stepped forward and placed his hands on his hips. The action was more about keeping them from shaking than anything else.

"Why? What's wrong?"

The guard glared at him. "Are you d'Artagnan?"

"Yes."

"Then I shouldn't need to explain to you that when your captain issues an order, you follow it."

The fact he was correct did nothing to dispel the knot of fear clawing its way up from his stomach. Treville had been explicit about him not being fit to ride. So why was he suddenly being summonsed to the palace unless there was something wrong? He had to force himself to keep calm and nod at the guard.

"Let me saddle my horse."

Marcel shrunk into the shadows as he stared at the two men. He had never seen them in uniforms before, but he definitely knew them. He prayed they had not seen him. It was never good to be the object of their attention.

* * *

Treville glared at the man pacing across the room. It was the second time he had been called out by the Cardinal on a flimsy complaint. The fact the man had considered it a death threat would have been ridiculous if Treville had not been privy to the threats against Athos.

"As you well know, Captain, this is the second time I have had one of these threats delivered, in exactly the same manner!"

"And this is the second time your own guards have failed to stop the intruder!"

Treville felt his anger rising and he had to force himself to keep calm. The letter nailed to the door with a small dagger made his blood run cold. The first time around, he had simply dismissed it as the Cardinal having a fit of hysterics. He had investigated as he had promised he would, albeit not particularly thoroughly.

This time though, he knew differently. According to Porthos' information from Marcel, Milady had delivered a letter to Athos in exactly the same way. His mind was chewing through possible ways the two things were connected, but his main concern was not letting on to Athos that he knew anything. If the man suspected his secret was out, there was no telling what he would do.

Suddenly Treville thought of something else. He knew Milady had worked for the Cardinal. It was highly likely the man recognised his former accomplice's weapon of choice. If that was the case, he knew who had delivered the threat. And he also knew that it was a credible threat. The Captain had a momentary lapse where he briefly considered leaving the man to reap what he had sown. If it had not been for Athos, he may well have done so.

For his part, Athos was reeling as he stared at the dagger. There was no doubt in his mind that his wife was behind it. What he could not fathom was how this connected to her game with him. He detested the Cardinal, but could not see what possible advantage his wife gained from threatening him.

Aramis and Porthos looked at each other and could read the same concern on each other's face. Something was getting very strange about the whole thing and neither of them could decide what it was. It just concerned them both that d'Artagnan had been left behind at the garrison and Athos looked like he was going to be sick.

* * *

The guards headed off through the streets towards the palace and d'Artagnan followed behind them. His horse could feel the tension in his rider and it showed in his gait. It made d'Artagnan focus on the animal instead of his thoughts as he needed to hold the reins tighter than he usually would to control his mount. He missed the fact they had turned into a street he would not readily use to get to the palace. Suddenly he looked up and began to ask where they were going, when one of the guards turned towards him. The two men dropped back to ride alongside him and each of them revealed a pistol hidden under their cloaks. He may have been able to take out one of them, but the other would have an open shot at his exposed back.

"We're taking a little detour." The smirk on the men's faces was unnerving as he looked back and forth between them.


	13. Chapter 13

Well it seems that taking d'Artagnan away led to a whole slew of worried reviews. Aren't you glad I don't dawdle over chapters? :-)

**Chapter Thirteen**

Marcel huddled into the corner of the stall and tried desperately to make himself as small as possible. The two men had stirred up such terrifying images in his mind that he felt like his head was going to burst. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to force out the images that flooded his brain. Another boy, only a year or so older than him, had been unfortunate enough to cross paths with them.

At first, Marcel had been jealous as it seemed that Matthieu had landed a couple of wealthy benefactors. The coins had poured in as he had been sent on various errands for them. The fact he was small for his age and able to scale the sides of buildings made him ideal for their needs. He had no qualms with climbing into second-storey windows and scampering back out again with what was required. His code of honour only extended to his immediate current comrades and anybody else was fair game. Especially the wealthy nobility who flaunted their wealth at every opportunity and treated those beneath them with cruelty.

Marcel felt a fearful tremor rolling through his body as he recalled the last time he had seen Matthieu. They had been seconded to help with carrying away bags of something from a balcony and the promise of coin was too hard to pass up. He had been coming back from hauling a bag away when he heard raised voices coming from above them on the balcony. Suddenly the boy came scrambling out onto the balcony and he was pushed hard up against the railing by one of the men. He was struggling to free himself when the timber splintered and he tumbled from the second floor.

Marcel felt his stomach lurch as he recalled the sight of the dead boy sprawled in the alleyway below. He had no idea that much blood could come out of one person. What really sickened him was the fact that the two men kept going with what they were doing and ignored the body below them. He had skulked away into the alley and as soon as he was out of sight, he had run for his life.

Tears welled in his eyes as he felt the fear threatening to choke him. Why were the same two men in the garrison? And why were they dressed as red guards? Something more kept nagging at him as he knew that nothing good could come from d'Artagnan leaving with them. Finally he decided that he could not simply sit still and wait for the other men to come back. He climbed up off the floor and ran for the garrison gate.

* * *

Athos walked towards the window and tried to keep his emotions in check. He could not fathom the connection between the threats he had been subjected to and why the Cardinal would be in Anne's sights too. He could understand her anger towards her former employer who had abandoned her when she was no longer useful to him. What he could not understand was why she would choose now to go after him. If the idea was, as had been proposed, to discredit the Musketeers, then it seemed a strange way to go about it. It was Richelieu's own guards who had been made to look foolish. Twice now somebody had made it past them to nail a threat to the Cardinal's door and not one of them had seen a thing. Of course, Athos had speculated already, that Anne was adept at using seduction to get men to look the other way.

He stared into the courtyard below and tried to gather his thoughts. Treville had gone off somewhere, following up a line of enquiry with Porthos and Aramis was on the landing below, talking to a palace guard. He would normally have been fully aware of all that was happening, but today was not a normal day. He was startled out of his reverie by a woman curtseying beside him. She was a kitchen servant, based on her clothing and he felt a momentary irritation at her intrusion on his thoughts. When she straightened up and reached out with a piece of parchment, he felt his stomach clench in horror. She seemed completely unaware of the effect it had on him and he grabbed at her wrist. She squeaked in alarm at the rough handling, but he stared at her without concern for her well-being.

"Where did you get this?"

"A dispatch rider from the garrison delivered it, only a few moments ago."

He stared at her as he knew it was not true, but her watering eyes convinced him she had nothing to do with any deception. He released her arm and watched as she scurried away from him.

His fingers trembled as he opened the paper and he felt the world drop out from under him.

_It is time to choose. His life or yours. Meet me at la __Fére__ if you wish to save him. If I see you approach with anyone else, he will be dead before you get to him. _

Athos felt the room sway around him. He could see Aramis below him, only twenty feet away. His instinct was to call his brother to his side, but the words on the paper were like a knife to his throat. He could not open his mouth. Instead he stepped backwards against the wall until he was out of Aramis' line of sight. He looked around to see that nobody was paying attention to him as he slipped out of the palace.

* * *

Treville arrived back with Porthos and looked around to see where he had left his other two men. Aramis looked concerned as he hurried down the stairs towards him. The Captain felt his senses amp up a notch as he could not see Athos anywhere. His worst fears were confirmed as Aramis raced towards him.

"Athos is gone! One of the maids said he received a letter from a dispatch rider and he's gone! She said the rider was from the garrison."

Porthos growled at the last comment as all of them knew the same thing. Any real dispatch rider would have sought out Treville. The fact Athos had not stopped to tell them anything only confirmed their suspicions.

"D'Artagnan!"

Treville saw his fear reflected in his men's faces as all three of them raced for the door.

* * *

Treville reached for his horse's reins and was about to hoist himself into the saddle when he caught sight of Marcel. The boy seemed as if he would keel over from lack of breath, and he leaned heavily against the wall outside the gates. It was clear the guards would have never let him through the gates, but it was equally clear he was waiting for them. Aramis rushed over to check on the boy and knelt down in front of him.

"Are you all right? What are you doing here?"

Marcel waited until Porthos arrived before beginning to speak. He sought out the man's eyes and seemed to be silently apologising while simultaneously talking.

"Two men! They came dressed as guards, but they weren't no guards!"

Treville frowned at him and waited impatiently for him to continue. They needed to get after Athos, not wait for a boy to catch his breath.

"They took d'Artagnan with them!"

Porthos grabbed him by the shoulder and barely managed to stop himself squeezing it. "'ow do you know they weren't guards?"

Marcel swallowed hard as he tried not to cry at the memory. "I remember them. From ... before. They … they killed my friend." As his voice trailed away, Treville stepped forward.

"Did they say anything? Like where they were going?"

"Umm … they said they were from the palace. And that you sent for him." Treville felt his stomach sink as the boy pointed towards him.

The three men looked at each other in alarm. Clearly Treville had done no such thing.

"But I remember where they used to go to drink." Porthos barely hesitated as he grabbed the boy and swung him up onto his horse. In minutes he was seated behind him and urging his horse away from the gates.

"Show us!"

The Cardinal stood at the window and watched as the three men rode away from the palace. A faint smile pulled at his lips as he let the drapes fall back into place.

"Well done. Very well done."

He slid into the chair behind his desk. He very deliberately and slowly placed his elbows on the desk, touched the tips of his fingers together and tapped at his chin with his forefinger. The faint smile spread into a full-blown grin as he considered the events of the day.

At best, by the time the sun set, the Musketeers' garrison would be drowning in grief and recriminations. Treville would be trying to find answers for his men that would never be satisfactory. The sanctimonious man would be brought to his knees at the loss of his lieutenant. Even better, the brat who had stolen the red guards' glory in their challenge would also be dead. If not, his spirit would surely be broken. Divide and conquer was a well-known battle strategy. It worked in almost all circumstances and he had no doubt it would work today.

At worst, she would be dead and Athos would be left to deal with his own guilt. Either way, the men he despised for trapping him into a confession would never be the same again. He remained seated for some time, delighting in the anticipation of the day. Whether or not Milady came out of it alive, did not concern him, so long as he got his revenge.

* * *

D'Artagnan slumped in the saddle and tried desperately to think of a plan. His head throbbed as he swayed in the saddle. His hands had been tied together and then laced onto the horse's reins. A lead rope tethered him to the horse in front and there was no choice but to follow. The rider finally slowed to a walk to allow the horses to rest and he felt immense relief wash over him. His shoulder ached as he had no give in the ropes and his arms were locked in place.

The lump on the back of his head reminded him that these two men could be aggressive just for the entertainment factor. After arriving at a dingy inn in a dirty backstreet, one of them had hauled him from the saddle and thrown him backwards into the cobblestones. The second blow to his head in as many days had sent him reeling. Rough hands had dragged him to his feet and the man had pointed a pistol at his head before waving it towards the door.

He stared at the back of his horse's head in an attempt to gather his scattered thoughts. He needed a plan or Athos was going to die.

The physical pain and discomfort faded into the background as he considered the pain in his chest. Athos was already probably in his wife's clutches. The two men who had tricked him had also taunted him along the way with the fact two of their accomplices had played the exact same trick on Athos. She planned to kill him and he was supposed to be the audience to her macabre theatre. Her choice of la Fére was both spiteful and cruel. There had been enough tragedy there already.

Eventually they crested a hill and he saw the village laid out below them. The last time he had traveled this stretch of road, Porthos had lain near death in the back of a wagon. None of them had any clue they were heading into a nightmare of long-buried memories and lies. Athos' strange behaviour had been unnerving and completely unfathomable. Until he had stumbled on the awful truth. Not one of them could have possibly imagined how events would play out from there. Not for the first time, D'Artagnan felt the crushing fear of what could have happened, had he not chosen to return that night. It was unthinkable that he not have Athos in his life.

As they neared the charred remains of his friend's ancestral home, d'Artagnan felt the blood rushing through his head as he saw her. She was dressed in white with blue flowers woven into her hair. If he had not seen her at her evil worst, he would have been captivated by the sight of her. It was not surprising that Athos had been smitten with his wife. She was the most beautiful of women on the outside. Unfortunately the inside of her was a black as the depths of Hades. The horses drew alongside her and she smiled at him. He felt his skin crawling in reaction to her look and his stomach turned in distaste. He stared at her as he noticed the locket strung around her neck. For most of the time he had known Athos, the man had worn it like some kind of badge of torment. When he was well into a bottle of wine, he would pull it out and twist it in his fingers. The day he threw it away, d'Artagnan had seen him discard a part of himself. The fact Milady had picked it up and was wearing it made him feel ill. It was like some kind of talisman that bound them together.

* * *

Athos spurred his exhausted horse forward. He would not normally have pushed the beast so hard, but his horse's wellbeing was not his priority. He had no expectation he would be needing it to take him back.

_A/N: Now don't get mad. The next chapter is almost done. In fact, I wrote it before I wrote this one and had to pull myself back to fill in the gap! Very frustrating to say the least._


	14. Chapter 14

This chapter has been keeping me up at night. It's been mostly written in my head for weeks and I needed the rest of the story to get here. I hope you like it as much as I do.

**Chapter Fourteen**

Porthos focused his attention on the rider in front of him, in order to stop himself shouting obscenities into the air. His heart seemed to have taken up residence in his throat and he was finding the collar of his doublet was too tight. His hands clenched around the reins and he imagined them clamping around a throat instead.

As the streets of Paris gave way to open countryside he found himself wishing he had some kind of prayer he could pray. Maybe next time he would pay more attention to Aramis. The three of them had made short work of the incompetent so-called guards at the tavern Marcel had taken them to and his fists had produced a quick string of information. There was no time for diplomacy or delicacy and Treville had held arms pinned back as Porthos extracted what they needed. Two of their contacts had recently been paid a large sum of money which they had been boasting about the night before. It was an excessive amount for the job required as it was really a short journey to la Fére and back. It could be done in a day, easily.

He was grateful that Aramis had had the foresight to send Marcel on his way, before the lad had any chance to see anything of their dealings. For some strange reason, the boy's good opinion mattered to him. He brushed the curious thought aside and returned to focusing on Treville's back. Aramis was the only one who had done the journey before in any reasonable state of health and they had allowed him to lead the way. It was not the day to get lost or take a wrong road. As Porthos brought up the rear, the only prayer he could think of was something from a psalm he'd once heard. It was along the lines of walking through a valley of death and not being afraid. He raised his face to the sky and prayed his friends would walk out of that valley.

* * *

Athos turned his exhausted horse into the courtyard of his former home. The animal was lathered in sweat and heaving as it sought breath. He nearly stopped breathing himself as he surveyed the burnt out shell. Walls that had once echoed with laughter and love had been turned into a macabre tombstone.

He pulled his horse to a sudden stop as he took in the sight before him. His wife floated across the grass towards him. She was dressed in a simple white dress that echoed the awful day he had sought to drown out of his memory. Her hair was garlanded with tiny blue flowers and her locket hung from her neck. She had always had a flair for the dramatic, but the sight of her made his heart pound. She could not have chosen more callously if she had tried. He stared at her in disgust and he felt his own guilt rising like bile in his throat.

It took another moment for him to look past her and see her plan revealed. She had repeatedly threatened to take d'Artagnan from him and for a sickening moment he thought she already had. His friend's hands were bound in front of him and a noose hung around his neck. The other end was stretched around the branch of a tree. He cried out involuntarily and felt a flood of relief as d'Artagnan slowly lifted his head. The bruises on his face stood out in stark contrast to the white of his shirt. The stitching across his forehead was oozing blood. He looked dazed as he stared blankly at the man on the horse in front of him.

Athos slid from the saddle and grasped at the stirrup to steady himself as his feet hit the ground. His knees threatened to betray him and he stumbled forward.

"What have you done to him?" The words came out in a breathless rush. "You wanted me here. I'm here. Please, if you have any shred of humanity left, let him go. Let him live."

Milady took a step towards him and smiled sweetly.

"You still don't understand, do you? I never intended to kill him. I wanted you! He will be left to live his miserable life with the knowledge that he is the catalyst for your death. Your friends will have to live with knowing they could not save you. Your precious brotherhood is worth nothing when you cannot save each other. The Musketeers will be forever tainted and diminished. All because of you, my love."

Athos stared at his friend's face while his wife's words sunk in. His brain felt fuzzy and he found it almost impossible to think. It was clear the young man had been roughly handled and he itched to check him for himself. Whoever had done it was nowhere to be seen, but he knew without a doubt that she could not have forced a fit, young man into such a position without help. He dared not look away, lest her capricious nature come to the fore and she decided to kill him anyway. The crate he was balanced on was far too close to her.

Milady watched him closely and finally seemed to make a decision. She walked towards d'Artagnan and Athos involuntarily stepped closer too. The pistol she held in her hand was a reminder that she still had total control and she pointed it at d'Artagnan's head.

"Remove your weapons and leave them over there." She vaguely waved to a space on her left and he stumbled across to comply. His eyes never left d'Artagnan's face as he did so. Finally he slowly walked towards them and watched as Anne removed the rope from his head and shoved him off the crate. Being bound and unable to stop his fall, he sprawled face first onto the ground. By the time he pushed himself up onto his knees, his vision was blurring over. The stitches in his forehead had split and blood dribbled down the side of his face. He blinked, trying desperately to clear his head. Finally he managed to make it to his feet and he virtually ignored the pistol pointed at his chest.

Athos squared his shoulders and stared unswervingly at the boy in front of him. Except he wasn't a boy. He was a man. A man that he was proud to call his friend. He had known, somewhere deep in his spirit that this day would come. Maybe not the details, but he had been expecting it since the day he had turned his wife loose. A part of him had felt the connection sever as he dropped the locket on the ground and walked away, but a part of him had heard her parting words and taken them to heart.

_You know there can be no peace for either of us until we are both dead._

He stared into d'Artagnan's face and weighed the price as being worthy. He could save one life and perhaps in some small measure, make atonement for the ones he could not save. There had been far too many that had suffered and died because he had failed in his duty. He would not add d'Artagnan to that list.

Today was the day his spirit would find peace. He knew his friends would hunt her down and her life would be forfeit for her crimes. There would be no trial or judge. So perhaps it was the day that both of them would finally find peace as the past was laid to rest, once and for all.

D'Artagnan's eyes brimmed with tears and he desperately kept repeating one word over and over as he shook his head vehemently in denial.

"No, no, no, no, no!"

Athos leaned forward and grasped his friend's face between his hands. D'Artagnan reached out and gripped the front of his shirt; determined not to let him go. Tears spilled down his face and his voice gave out on him. Athos' insane wife trained her pistol on him, as if expecting him to make some kind of move against her.

"This is _not _your fault. This is my choice. Remember that." With that, he pulled d'Artagnan's face towards him and kissed his forehead. As he stepped back, he had to force himself not to turn away. He would not allow his own weakness to destroy anybody else and he needed his young friend to know he had gone willingly.

She had not won.

He had not failed.

Milady watched the scene with a calm detachment. She had seduced and used both men and yet she felt nothing towards either of them except hatred. Both of them had rejected her. She could not define it, but their love for each other only served to highlight her own character defects. She had long since rejected the idea of absolution and her heart had become so hardened that she felt nothing but satisfaction at what was coming.

"Set him free." The words were low and calm and Athos put every last shred of authority he could muster into them. "You have what you wanted."

As long as her pistol was focused on him, she could not shoot d'Artagnan with it.

His wife smiled at him and he felt his stomach clench. The smile held no warmth, only a callousness that he had come to know only recently.

Milady turned towards d'Artagnan and stared at him. "You have served your purpose. Now go!"

He stood his ground and refused to move. If he did, Athos was dead. Milady smirked at him and pointed the pistol back towards Athos' head.

"Go … or he dies anyway."

D'Artagnan stumbled backwards. He watched as the woman he had come to truly despise, forced his friend onto the crate and placed the hangman's noose around Athos' neck. The older man watched him as he took another step back. Athos swallowed hard and focused on keeping himself from losing control. He would not give her the satisfaction of hearing him beg. He just prayed that d'Artagnan had the sense to run out of range of her pistol.

Milady lifted the locket off her neck and draped it in front of her husband's face.

"It was a perfect day."

The tiny blue flowers swung past his eyes and he stared past it to focus on the horizon instead. He saw her move to the side and knew what was coming.

D'Artagnan screamed in defiance as Milady pushed the crate out from under Athos' feet. The rope jerked taut and his body spasmed with the shock of the force. His face distorted as the air supply was cut off and his lips began to turn blue.

Blind rage spurred him forward and all thoughts of self-preservation evaporated as d'Artagnan charged across the space between them. He could hear a roaring sound in his ears, but was completely unaware it was coming from him. He grasped desperately at Athos' body to try to force him upwards and release the weight on the rope. With his hands still bound, he struggled to get a grasp and staggered sideways. Milady reached across for him and he felt as if she had punched him. The blow glanced off his side and he ignored it as he continued his desperate dance.

The sound of a musket cracked through the air and his mind barely had time to register if it was Aramis behind him. Suddenly he felt the full weight of his friend dropping from above him. He had no more time to process what was happening. He just knew that Athos was still being strangled to death. The frayed end of the rope flopped onto the ground beside him as Athos' body sagged into the dirt and he tumbled into a heap beside him.

Another musket shot cracked behind him, and he felt Milady stagger to the ground beside him. She moaned in pain, but he didn't care. His friend was dying right in front of him. Her needs were irrelevant.

D'Artagnan grasped at the offending rope and wrenched it off over Athos' head. His heart was pounding violently in his chest and his mind was screaming in agony. Athos still hadn't opened his eyes or responded in any way. He gripped the front of Athos' shirt and shook him. Tears streamed down his face and the only thing coming out of his mouth was a rough, hoarse whisper.

"Athos! Wake up! Please … oh God! You can't do this to me. Wake up!"

He continued to try to rouse his friend and felt hope slipping away with each moment that passed.

"Please … please don't do this."

Suddenly a rage began to rise up in him and he grabbed Athos' pale face between his hands.

"Fight! Damn it. Fight! Call yourself a musketeer? You can't quit like this."

As suddenly as it had come, the rage began to dissipate and he felt the overwhelming sense of despair. She had won. Milady may be dying beside him but her last act in life had stolen his brother from him. She was right when she said she would take him and he would be left to live a life without him.

He dropped his face onto Athos' chest and felt the tears drenching the fabric under his cheek. His fingers grasped at whatever he could grab hold of and he struggled to hold himself together.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" The muffled cries melted into Athos' chest and d'Artagnan felt the world falling away underneath him. It was the second time he had held someone he loved as they died and his heart was breaking all over again.

Suddenly he felt a hand in his hair. Assuming it was Aramis, he ignored it. It wasn't until he thought he heard his name being whispered that he slowly lifted his head. The hand dropped away and he stared into Athos' face. Bleary eyes blinked back at him and he tried desperately to just breathe.

"Athos?"

It was only a whisper and he barely dared to believe it that his friend was alive. He watched in alarm as Athos' eyes slid closed again. Before he knew what was happening, Aramis had peeled him back and gently pushed him aside. He watched with an odd sense of detachment as Aramis ran his hands over Athos' face and neck. The touch grew more insistent until Athos blinked his eyes open again. Aramis sucked in a deep breath and grinned through his tears.

"Oh thank God!"

D'Artagnan felt hands on his shoulders and he instinctively leaned back into them. Porthos wrapped an arm across his shoulder and over his chest and he lifted a hand to grasp hold of it. No words could convey what was streaking aimlessly through his thoughts, but he didn't need to try. Porthos simply held onto him until the world steadied underneath him.

He could not take his eyes off the ugly red welt that spanned across Athos' neck. His mind took him back to the moment he had first lifted the velvet choker on a stranger's neck to reveal just such a scar and he had promised to kill whoever had put it there. He closed his eyes in distress as her words slammed into him.

"_I may hold you to that promise one day."_

In that moment the dam broke and he pushed away from Porthos as his stomach emptied itself all over the ground. The tremors shook him even harder and he felt himself falling sideways. Hands grasped at him and pulled him back towards solid ground.

"Easy lad, take it easy." The words washed over his head. He felt other hands pulling at him and somewhere in his dazed state he knew it was Treville. "You are injured."

He wanted to laugh. To cry. To scream at them. His body betrayed him and froze in place as his mind tried to think of an answer. Was he injured? He didn't know. Everything felt numb.

Somebody brought a cloak and draped it around him. He felt hands pulling him into an embrace and as much as he wanted the comfort, he also wanted to push it away. He needed something else.

Treville watched in concern as d'Artagnan unwrapped himself from Porthos. His eyes seemed unfocused. He had seen the same thing happen on the battlefield. A soldier would make it through the trauma only to fall apart afterwards. Suddenly he knew what his young charge needed most. His eyes were searching for Athos. Aramis had brought water and was slowly dripping it into Athos' mouth, in order to better rouse him. Each of them had seen the moment when his eyes closed and each of them had feared the same thing. He still had not spoken and did not seem to know who was with him. Aramis had his friend's head cradled in his hands and he leaned low enough to keep up a running one-sided conversation.

As d'Artagnan pushed his way across the space between them, Treville saw Athos lock eyes with him. Fresh tears streamed down the young man's face and he tentatively reached out a hand to grasp Athos' hand in both of his own. It wasn't until he felt his hand being squeezed back that he knew with any kind of certainty that his friend was truly all right.

It was Porthos who saw it first. Streaks of blood trailed down d'Artagnan's side. He pointed at it and realised Treville had seen it too. Aramis was too busy trying to keep Athos conscious and had not noticed yet. D'Artagnan seemed oblivious to his own injury as he wept without any kind of reserve or self-consciousness. He had a firm grip on Athos' hand, as if holding on was keeping him alive. Perhaps it was.

Treville pulled off his cloak and draped it over the body of Athos' wife. She lay sprawled in the dirt, clutching onto a wound in her stomach and none of them could bear to look at her. He had never considered he could feel anything but disgust at an injury to a woman, but his sense of chivalry was hard-pressed to feel anything but relief. A stomach wound was always fatal as the victim bled to death. The woman was dying and his men were not. For the moment, that was enough for him.


	15. Chapter 15

You guys are awesome. It was very cool waking up this morning to a box full of emails. I think I struck a chord with a few of you. Thank you so much for letting me know your thoughts. And in return, I didn't leave you waiting!

**Chapter Fifteen**

Marcel concentrated on tightening the girth strap of the massive horse. It took all he had to wrench the strap a notch tighter as the horse inflated its belly against it. It was a common thing for a horse to do and he had learned very quickly when he first came to the garrison. He thought the strap was tight until d'Artagnan went to mount his horse. Fortunately he had known what the problem was and pulled his foot from the stirrup before the saddle could slip sideways. He had called Marcel over and the boy had assumed he was about to be beaten. Mistakes were not allowed in his world.

He flinched as d'Artagnan placed a hand on his shoulder and then looked at the floor as the young musketeer looked intently at him. The strange look on his face passed quickly and he smiled instead. He pointed out that many horses would do the same thing when being saddled. He either needed to wait and let the horse breathe out and tighten the strap or, for the particularly stubborn ones, give it a nudge in the ribs until it released the breath. Either way, Marcel had learned the lesson.

As he remembered that day, he found himself shaking. Since coming to the garrison he had experienced a life that he did not know was possible. The men often did not see him as he went about his work, but when they did notice him, he was treated well. Nobody had even once raised a hand to him, even when he had made mistakes. The day Porthos had found out his secret, he had been sure he was about to be beaten. He could not define what had changed, or why he suddenly worried about what the man thought of him, but he hoped desperately he had not ruined his chances of staying.

Denier strode through the door and grasped his horse's bridle. He nodded at the boy before mounting his horse and heading out through the gate towards the palace. He needed answers and that was the logical starting place. Marcel sat down on the upturned bucket he had been standing on moments earlier. He could not put the pieces together. After taking the three men to the inn, he had been sent back to the garrison. Something in him felt the need to stay and see what happened, although he was not game enough to actually enter the inn. He knew what kind of things happened in that place and his heart thumped wildly as the three musketeers entered the tavern door.

He hid across the alleyway and waited in the shadows. He felt incredible relief to see the same men exit a short time later with nobody following them. Porthos was flexing his hand as he climbed up onto his horse and Marcel only caught a snippet of their conversation as they rode away. He ran as fast as he could back to the garrison and sought out Denier. He had no idea where la Fére was, but the look on the men's faces told him it wasn't a good place.

* * *

Athos found himself propped up against a tree. His whole body felt like a lead weight. His hands refused to co-operate with his brain and they lay helplessly in his lap. It hurt to swallow and if he had been able to, he would have stopped Aramis from dripping water into his mouth. The cool water did nothing to stop the burning sensation and his muscles objected with every bit he swallowed. Eventually Aramis seemed to be satisfied and he placed the waterbag on the ground. Athos closed his eyes in relief, only to have Aramis reach out and shake his shoulder.

"Don't go to sleep. I need you to stay awake." The concern in his friend's eyes made Athos try to nod his head in agreement. The movement sent his head spinning and he felt himself slipping sideways. Aramis grabbed at him and he forced himself to stay upright.

One word dominated his thoughts, but his mouth would not co-operate. The connection between his spinning thoughts and his own body seemed damaged. He could hear loud groaning somewhere in the background and his fear crept up a notch. He desperately needed to know.

"D'Ar …" The word stuck in his throat and he found himself coughing violently. The muscles in his throat spasmed and he sagged forward into Aramis' arms.

"Easy, easy. D'Artagnan is fine. He's just over there with Porthos."

Almost as if on cue to the question, Treville appeared behind them. He crouched down beside Aramis and nodded. Athos was aware enough to note a silent exchange between them, although he could not work out what it meant. He frowned in concentration, but it didn't help. Aramis stood up and Treville slid into the space he had vacated.

As Aramis headed towards where d'Artagnan was laid out on Porthos' cloak he tried to ignore the plaintive noises coming from the woman who had caused this nightmare. Everything in him wanted to load his musket again and finish what he had started. He blinked rapidly to clear the memory of coming into view of Athos' home and seeing the horrific sight before him. The first shot had been taken from horseback and he had pulled the beast to a halt in order to take aim. It was a shot he could not afford to miss. The second shot had been taken as he had spurred his horse forward and Porthos had thrust the second musket into his hands. He had been aiming for her heart. He wasn't so sure she actually had one and a small part of him was glad that he had not killed her outright. His insides were at war as the healer side of his nature told him that nobody should be left to suffer, while the soldier side of him said that enemy combatants deserved no quarter. He plastered on a smile as he knelt down beside his friend.

It had only been a short time since he had disentangled the two of them from each other's grasp, but he could see that d'Artagnan had not taken his eyes off Athos. Those same eyes were cloudy with pain and he needed to know the full extent of its cause. Porthos shuffled back to give him space and Aramis knelt down on the ground. He reached a hand across to tilt d'Artagnan's face towards him. Dirt streaked the side of his face and the wound on his forehead had blood encrusted around it. He could see where the stitches had torn and he frowned. A second blow to the head coming so soon after the first one was never good. He gently probed around the rest of his friend's hair, looking for any further damage and was dismayed to find a sizable lump on the back of his head. D'Artagnan winced as he touched at it, but the skin was not broken.

"What happened there?"

"Hit my head on the cobblestones." The words were almost too soft to hear and he leaned forward. His friend wasn't clumsy and he knew, without being told, what had happened. Most likely at the inn they had visited earlier in the day.

He nodded and continued his examination. There was blood soaked down the side of his shirt and Aramis gently tugged at the fabric. A bloodied streak stretched across the skin. As Aramis prodded at it, d'Artagnan held his breath. He felt Porthos gripping his shoulder and he slowly exhaled.

"It's not deep." He looked up to see d'Artagnan watching him and he smiled. "Somehow she missed killing you at point blank range."

"Harder to hit a moving target!" He hissed through his teeth as he recalled why. At the time, he had been trying desperately to get a grip on Athos and his body was swinging freely. He closed his eyes to blot out the image and Aramis mistook it for a reaction to pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm almost done."

"S'okay."

At that moment their conversation was interrupted.

"Athos."

D'Artagnan pushed himself up on one elbow before Porthos could stop him. The voice he hated most in the world was calling for the person he loved most. He had not come this far to allow her to do anything else to hurt his friend.

Treville laid a hand on Athos' chest as the man responded involuntarily.

"Athos, please."

The idea of Milady pleading for anything was sickening and Aramis again felt the desire to load his musket. He watched as Athos struggled to his feet. Treville had tried to stop him until he saw the look on his lieutenant's face. They all knew his wife was dying. There was no telling what she would do before she passed, but she was certainly no physical threat any longer. Reluctantly, he helped Athos gain his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist. The man wobbled on his feet, but was determined to move.

He slowly made the short walk across to where his wife laid, still covered by Treville's cloak. The sight of her under the musketeer colour made him gag. She had no right to that honour. Her eyes tracked his slow progress and he could see the crease of pain on her face. He had no idea what had happened to her, but she was clearly wounded and he could guess.

Milady smiled as he approached and he felt his stomach clench.

"Athos …. you must know … I loved you once."

"Love! You have no concept of love." The words were a hoarse whisper and he cursed his own weakness. She had stolen his voice when he needed it most. There was so much to say and so very little time to say it. He felt Treville's arm around his waist and he looked across to where his three brothers were gathered. Suddenly he knew that there was nothing to say. He had always struggled for words, in spite of being born into nobility. A large part of him believed that actions spoke much louder than words anyway.

As he locked eyes with d'Artagnan, he knew that it was true. A young man he had not known even a year earlier had become so important to him, he was prepared to lay down his life for him. All of Anne's smooth words over the years were swept aside. Her lies counted for nothing. He had found love and salvation in the most unlikely way.

"Take me to him." Treville barely caught the words, but he happily obliged. Athos did not need to stand and watch his wife die. As they shuffled away from her, Milady tried one last time.

"Your friend will be left to carry the guilt of my death, if you do nothing!"

Athos paused, but did not turn. He watched as Aramis stood and launched himself at her. His usually affable friend had a face like thunder.

"I will carry your death as a badge of honour! I have brought an end to my friend's suffering. There is no room for guilt in that!"

Aramis spat the words at her as he towered over her and he watched in satisfaction as her face crumpled in pain. The sheen of sweat across her face told him all he needed to know. The pain would continue until her dying breath. He had nothing with him as they had left in such haste, but even if he did have, he would not have given it to her. A nagging voice in the back of his mind made him doubt that, but he was glad he would never know.

Instead he turned back to see Athos kneeling beside d'Artagnan. He held the boy's face in his hand and tears ran freely down his face.

Aramis grasped Treville's arm and pulled him aside. "We need to get them both out of here. They both need tending and I have nothing here to help them."

The Captain nodded and pointed towards the horses. "Get them ready and you will all ride to the village."

Aramis frowned at him, but could not get the question out before Treville continued.

"I will not leave until she is dead. Athos must know he is free."

Aramis nodded in silent agreement. He could only imagine his friend's horror to discover his long-dead wife was not dead and she was the cause of so much grief and suffering. As he turned back towards the horses he strode past where she lay. The look of fury in her eyes was matched only by the pain creased across her features. Even in death, she was spitting venom. He swallowed down an angry comment and settled for knowing she did not have long left on this earth. He fingered the chain around his neck and felt a momentary flash of something before he dismissed it. She did not deserve Last Rites and he would not be the one to try to administer it anyway. He glanced briefly upwards, as if expecting a lightning bolt at his blasphemous thoughts, but he quickly decided that God could deal with her as he chose.

Athos allowed Treville to help him mount his horse and he gripped tightly to the saddle to stop himself swaying. He had objected, until Treville reminded him that d'Artagnan needed help and the lad would not leave without him. Aramis held d'Artagnan firmly in his arms as he steered his horse out of the courtyard and Porthos pulled alongside Athos. He took one last look over his shoulder and saw Treville standing guard over the body laying on the ground. The sound of her moans faded as they rode away, but Athos found himself fighting the wish to go back. He had ridden away prematurely once before and that fateful decision had birthed a whole new nightmare. He forced himself forward and he focused on Aramis' back. This time was different.

This time, his captain would not fail him.

This time, he was not leaving because he could not face his own decision.

This time, he rode away with no guilt attached.


	16. Chapter 16

I think these boys have officially taken over my life! I am overwhelmed by the reviews and messages for the last couple of chapters. Thank you so very much!

**Chapter Sixteen**

Treville watched as the group disappeared from view. He turned back to survey the burned out remains of what had once been a grand house. He had known Athos a long time and shared the depths and highs of their chosen life, but it still surprised him at how little he actually knew. The man was a comte! In other circumstances Treville would have been expected to obey his orders, not the other way around. After hearing the scant details Athos had given them, he had sometimes wondered just what could make a man turn his back on such a position. Having seen the events of recent months play out, he was beginning to understand.

If Athos believed his wife was dead by his own orders, he would have been crushed by the responsibility of that choice. Treville knew his friend well enough to know just how deeply he would have considered himself a failure. No amount of arguing would have changed that. The fact he was a gifted leader and a much-loved friend did not seem to have reduced his feelings or guilt.

Treville had seen his fair share of battles in his life as a soldier, but this one was like nothing he had ever faced before. He walked towards where he had left Milady. He could hear her moaning softly and was aware the sound had diminished. Whether that was because her audience had left or because she was growing weaker, he wasn't sure. He stopped short of where she was and wondered what to do next.

"Afraid I might escape?" The sarcastic question floated up from beneath his cloak.

"No. Just making sure my friend escapes."

"He will never escape! His sense of honour holds him captive. It will hold him until the day he dies."

Treville looked into the face of the woman he considered evil personified. Each of them had wondered how Athos ever came to be involved with her. It was more than her beauty, captivating as she was. Athos could not have been so tortured by her if he had not truly loved her. And in order for him to have loved her, she must have had something once that was worth loving. Either she was the consummate actor or she had once been a different person. He could not decide which was worse.

Soldiers are usually pragmatists and he eventually decided there are some questions in life that are never going to be answered. He had stayed behind for one reason only. To see the woman in front of him die. Never, in all his life, would he have considered he'd find himself in such a position.

"They are so predictable."

Treville simply stared at her, refusing to rise to the bait.

"It's what made it so easy to manipulate them."

_Them? _Something in her statement surprised him, but he brushed it aside as she continued.

"Just in case you didn't figure it out yet, I used your stableboy to deliver the letters to them." The breathy words betrayed her flagging energy, but the hatred had not diminished.

Treville felt his blood pressure rising. Even as she lay dying, the woman wanted to stir trouble. He smiled as he sought to pour some rain on her final parade.

"I know."

Milady stared at him through hooded eyes. She was certain he didn't, but his calm exterior made her think twice.

"In fact, he showed us the inn where your so-called guards went. It's how we tracked you."

He heard her suck in a sharp breath and he knew he'd hit a nerve. He decided to push it a little further.

"We intercepted your letters to him and saved Athos from you."

The sound of a laugh was quickly choked off by a gasp of pain. It took another couple of minutes before she responded.

"And what about d'Artagnan?"

"We saved him from you too!"

Treville felt like he was missing something. He would not give her the satisfaction of asking and he crossed his arms as if he was done with talking.

Five minutes later she had not spoken again. It had gone quiet and he hesitated to move closer. Finally he reached over and pulled the cloak off her body. He had seen many battle wounds in his career, but it had never dulled his senses to the sight of spilled blood. He recoiled at the pool of crimson spreading slowly across the ground. When he got no response, he crouched down and pulled back the ribbon choker to place two fingers against her throat.

He rocked back on his heels and contemplated the body in front of him.

It was finally over.

Somehow it felt anti-climactic after all she had done. The woman who had brought such torment into all their lives had died in the dirt. He could not muster a shred of pity and he reached over to replace the cloak over her face. He slowly stood up and walked to where the discarded rope lay on the ground.

It took almost an hour to undo the carefully constructed knot before he had a usable length of rope. It struck him as the ultimate insult that he was using her hangman's noose to wrap her body in the cloak, ready for burial. If he had any other choice, he would not have afforded her the honour of a musketeer's cloak for a burial shroud. And yet, he paused in his actions and stared at her as it also seemed to fit. He would finally be burying her connection to the regiment.

He slowly stood up and surveyed his handiwork. He could not imagine that Athos would want her buried on his land. In the absence of a plan, he had no choice but to leave her body where it was and head for the village.

* * *

Porthos slid off his horse and twisted the reins over the hitching rail. He watched as Athos sat slumped low in the saddle and he hurried towards the inn door. As they had ridden through the village they had attracted a degree of attention already and he was sure their arrival would have been announced before they got there. His suspicion was proven right when the inn's owner came rushing towards him.

"I need a room."

He barely got the request out before the man was pointing to the stairs.

"Of course. This way to our best room."

He nodded and headed back towards the door and the man scurried after him. As Porthos headed out into the courtyard he could see that Athos had already dismounted and was leaning heavily against his horse. A stableboy had appeared from somewhere and he nodded at the lad as he began to lead two horses away.

Aramis waited for him to come around next to him before easing d'Artagnan down into his grasp. The young man held onto Porthos' jacket as he tried to steady himself. Before he knew it, Aramis was on the other side of him and the four of them slowly headed into the inn.

Athos ignored the stares of those who recognised him; his only focus on getting d'Artagnan safely up the stairs and out of sight. The innkeeper hurried up the stairs behind them and followed them into the room. Curiosity chewed at him, as it had been many years since the Comte had been in his inn. He swallowed his questions and looked askance at the men in front of him.

Aramis quickly issued a list of things he needed as Porthos deposited d'Artagnan on the bed. As the man moved towards the door, he noted that the Comte looked ill. He seemed to sway on his feet and one of the men stretched out an arm to steady him. He knew the gossip in the room below would have been speculating wildly about the four men and he hoped to gain some information to share. As he looked back, he could see the Comte glaring at him and he scurried towards the door.

Aramis began to tug at d'Artagnan's bloodied shirt and eased it off over his head. His patient could barely contain a groan as he did so. Athos had slid into the space beside him and he laid a hand on his friend's thigh. Porthos waited by the door for the innkeeper to return and he brought over the supplies Aramis had requested. He laid them out on the table and stepped back to watch as the man went to work.

D'Artagnan seemed to be remaining upright only by sheer stubbornness and he closed his eyes as Aramis cleaned away the wound on his forehead. He felt the sense of calm that had always emanated from Athos. At least it always had until recent weeks. He swallowed hard and shuddered as the memories slammed into him.

Aramis immediately stopped what he was doing. "Are you all right?"

When he got no answer he prodded again. "D'Artagnan?"

"I'm fine."

He felt Athos squeeze his thigh and he blinked open his eyes. All three men were studying him closely and he forced out a flicker of a smile.

"I'm fine!"

Aramis nodded, but said nothing as he continued his work. By the time he was done, d'Artagnan was almost asleep sitting upright. Aramis finished tying off the bandage around his torso and sat back to survey his work. The bruising across his face had come out in multiple colours and his eyelid was now completely black. The white bandage above it only emphasised the bruising more.

He debated mixing a pain reliever, but decided to leave it for later, when it would be needed more. D'Artagnan was barely holding onto consciousness as it was and it would not take a pain draught to tip him over the edge. Porthos had acquired some extra pillows from the innkeeper and he propped them in behind d'Artagnan's back as Aramis eased him back into them.

D'Artagnan almost sagged into sleep, before he lurched awake again. The look of disorientation on his face lasted for as long as it took him to find Athos. The older man was still sitting beside him and he instinctively reached out a hand. No words were needed as d'Artagnan allowed his body to finally relax and he slowly closed his eyes again.

Aramis nodded towards Athos as he smiled. "Your turn. Take off your jacket."

Athos simply nodded and complied as his friend began to re-examine the raw wound around his neck. It burned and itched and the muscles felt tender, but Aramis was satisfied there would be no lasting damage.

"Your voice will be hoarse for a while. And it's going to be difficult to swallow. But I think you will live."

The smile in his eyes as he tossed out the flippant comment was almost ruined by the tears that threatened. There had been a time earlier in the day when he had not been so sure of that. He sucked in a breath and began to spread a salve across the red welt. Any other time he used salve he would automatically bandage over it to keep the wound clean. The fact he needed to wind a strip of linen around his friend's throat stopped him in his tracks.

Athos watched his friend falter in front of him and he knew why.

"It's all right. Nobody needs to see it anyway."

Aramis swallowed his thoughts and nodded. The local comte, who had left under a cloud, would not want to give his village's residents any cause for gossip. He gently wrapped the strip of fabric around Athos' neck, although his hands shook as he did do. He found himself staring into his friend's face and could not help himself.

"How … how did she do it?"

Porthos stood to one side and watched as Athos' shoulders slumped. He closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. By the time he opened his eyes, both of his friends were still staring at him.

"She was going to take him."

The simplest of answers to explain the foulest of crimes.

The three of them were startled as the door latch opened. Treville strode into the room with two bottles of wine and goblets on a tray. He was relieved to see that Aramis appeared to have finished his work and he pulled over a chair to sit down.

For several minutes nobody spoke. The man's appearance could only mean one thing. Finally Treville pulled the cork from the first bottle and poured out four drinks. He silently handed them out to the trio in front of him. Again, there didn't seem to be anything to say. How exactly did one toast the death of an enemy when that enemy was also a spouse?

Athos held his goblet in one hand and reached out to rest a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. The young man was soundly asleep and he smiled. He raised the wine into the air as he looked back to his brothers.

"To justice."

Treville raised his goblet and nodded. As the other two lifted theirs, each of them agreed.

"To justice."


	17. Chapter 17

I get the impression some of you are expecting Milady to go all zombie on us and turn up again! That gives me a mental picture you DO NOT want me writing!

My apologies for the delay, but I really did need a nap! Thank you so very much to all the wonderful reviewers and those who have messaged. Thank you also to those who have helped shape this story with your comments and ideas. You have added depth that would not have been there otherwise.

**Chapter Seventeen**

The noises from the tavern room below had finally died off and it seemed the inn had gone to sleep at last. Treville slouched in a chair with his feet propped up on the edge of a crate. He folded his arms across his chest and let his head drop forward. His body was reminding him that it had been a stressful day, but his mind would not allow him to rest.

The quiet of the room belied the turmoil of its occupants. He knew that it would be a long time coming for full healing of his men. And himself for that matter. He swallowed hard at the memory of watching Aramis take aim at a tiny sliver of rope that meant life or death. They had all stood in awe as the man's marksmanship had been proven many times over, but never had the cost of missing been so high. The frantic ride forward to see if Athos still breathed was a blur. Pulling up the horses and sprinting towards where d'Artagnan was draped over his mentor's body was an image he would give anything to remove from his memory.

He looked across to where the two of them lay sleeping. D'Artagnan had woken some time earlier and Aramis had given the young man something to dull the pain and send him back to sleep. Athos seemed intent on keeping guard until Aramis had almost manhandled him onto the bed.

"He isn't going anywhere. We are all here."

The words finally did their job and Athos pulled a blanket across himself as he slowly reached out an arm. Treville could see that even in sleep, his friend still had an arm draped across d'Artagnan's chest. It would be a long time before that fear was truly erased.

Porthos was stretched out across the floor, snoring softly and Aramis was slumped against the wall nearest the bed. Treville eventually gave up on the idea of sleep and pushed himself up out of the chair. He headed for the window and sat on the sill. Moonlight flooded the area below and he looked out towards the hills beyond the village. He wondered if the villagers had seen the flames as the manor had burned. He slowly turned back to look at the man he had come to know as a trusted friend. One woman had somehow stolen his life's inheritance from him when she also stole his brother. He had quite literally lost every thing of value in his life.

Treville's gaze dropped to the floor as he considered what may have been. If Milady had never gone down her treacherous and murderous path, Athos would never had become a musketeer. The thought choked in his throat and he struggled to pull a breath. The idea was incomprehensible to him and yet he would give his right arm for Athos to have all he deserved restored to him.

He looked up again as he wondered what would have become of d'Artagnan if Athos had not been at the garrison when he arrived. He frowned as that train of thought spilled over. They had eventually come to learn from the prisoners his men had rounded up that it was Milady who set up Athos in the first place. If she had not done so, d'Artagnan and his father would have arrived in Paris and simply headed home again. He shuddered as the implication fully hit home for the first time. The woman he had left lying in the dust had also stolen the young man's father and ultimately his home from him!

Sleep escaped him as his thoughts rolled on. The two men's lives had become inextricably linked and that was how Milady had been able to draw Athos in to her murderous plot. He had gone willingly to save d'Artagnan from her. Something still nagged at him and he tried to allow it space to present itself as his tired brain was churning slowly.

She had talked about_ them_. _They _had been so easy to manipulate.

Treville shot to his feet as he finally understood her taunt. She had threatened both of them! The Captain slowly walked across to where his two men lay sleeping. They were tangled together as d'Artagnan had shifted in his sleep and had his hand clasping Athos' forearm.

He stood watching for some time until he noted Athos' features crease in anger. His eyes rolled under his eyelids and it was clear he was dreaming. There was no question in Treville's mind what he was dreaming about. It didn't take long for his suspicions to play out. As a muttered protest became louder, he debated what to do. Before he had the chance, Athos sat bolt upright on the bed. He clawed at the bandage around his throat and ripped it apart.

Treville moved closer, hoping his friend was alert enough not to be startled. Athos stared at him as he flung the bandage onto the floor. His hands were shaking and a sheen of sweat had spread across his face. Never in all the time they had known each other, had the Captain seen such fear on his friend's face. Of course, coming within seconds of dying such a gruesome death was reason enough for it. He watched as Athos scrubbed a hand through his hair and he turned to where d'Artagnan still slept beside him. He reached out a shaky hand towards the young man, as if to reassure himself he was not some kind of phantom. When his fingers met solid, warm flesh he exhaled loudly.

The words that came out of Athos' mouth next, stunned him. "I wish we had never met."

"You do not mean a word of that." Aramis had pushed himself off the floor and was standing next to Treville. Athos turned his head slightly before shaking it.

"If he did not know me, she would never have targeted him."

"You think 'e'd be safely living back in Gascony, tending a farm?" Porthos' voice rolled across the room as he also pushed himself up off the floor.

Treville sat down heavily in the chair and shook his head. "I'm afraid that part of his life was stolen before he ever laid eyes on you."

Athos stared at him, but said nothing.

"We know Milady set out to frame you and whoever walked into that inn would have paid the price to set her trap. The fact it was d'Artagnan's father had nothing to do with you. Call it Fate, or bad luck … or whatever you want. His life changed forever that day and it had nothing to do with you. You were not swinging a blade or holding a pistol. You were not there!"

Silence stretched out as each of them thought about the truth of that statement.

"I'm very glad we met."

The muffled voice that rose up from the bed startled them all. Aramis moved to light more candles and suddenly the room was bathed in a warm light. D'Artagnan's face was still cloudy with sleep, but he forced out a smile.

"In fact, I thank God for the day we met." He stared at his mentor and friend and suddenly a frown creased his face. "Well, maybe not all the details of that day."

Porthos snorted in response. "I did think you was a little on the crazy side, taking us all on."

Treville looked at his men and suddenly recalled walking into the garrison with red guards in tow and knowing he had just interrupted something significant. He had never been told exactly what had happened. Until now. He dropped his head and tried to smother a smile. That sounded just like their hot-headed new recruit.

"You did make an impressive entrance." Aramis nodded in appreciation at the memory of d'Artagnan stalking into the garrison and throwing down his challenge to Athos.

"I aim to entertain." D'Artagnan felt his body beginning to remind him of the previous day and he involuntarily sucked in a breath. Aramis was by his side before he could say another word and Athos had a firm grasp of his arm.

"I apologise for waking you. You need to rest."

He clamped a hand over Athos' and smiled. "I meant what I said. I thank God for bringing me to you."

Pain began to cloud over his features, but he forced the smile to stay put. He accepted the cup that Aramis pressed to his lips and he swallowed the bitter draught with gratitude.

Athos stared at him, tears threatening in his eyes.

"She said she would take you from me. That you would suffer because of me." The guilt in his voice was apparent to all of them.

"She told me that we deserved each other. Said I chose the wrong path." The draught was quickly taking effect and his eyes slid closed. "She lied."

The words trailed off as Aramis' medication did its job. Athos stared at him and wanted to shake him awake. To ask him what he was talking about. His friends saw the distress on his face, but it was Treville who finally put the fragments together.

"That's what she meant!"

Each of them turned towards him and noted the angry frown on his face. It only took a moment for him to begin to explain.

"Before she died, she said something that didn't make sense. She was talking about how easy it was to manipulate them because they were so predictable. I believe she was talking about the _two_ of you." He looked across at Athos and saw he had come to the same conclusion.

Athos shoved himself off the bed and began stalking across the room. Anger rippled off him like a physical wave. He spun on his heel and pointed towards the bed.

"She used _me _as a threat against _him_!" He felt physically sick at the idea that his friend had been taunted in the same way that he had been and that he was the cause of it.

"I believe so, yes." Treville nodded slowly, his own anger rising. "She could have been sending him letters too."

Athos rushed towards him. "What do you mean, "too"? What do you know of letters?" The idea he had been careless enough to let something slip terrified him.

"Athos, sit down. There is much you do not know." Treville laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and felt the tremors of emotion under his palm. Athos stumbled back to the bed and sat down heavily. He had been so careful to keep his deadly secret. Where had he failed?

It was Porthos who picked up the thread of the conversation.

"The other day, when the lad pulled Marcel out of 'arms way, we found a letter that was intended for you." He decided to leave Marcel out of it for the moment and he continued on before Athos could ask for details.

"I went to Treville and Aramis and we figured some of what was goin' on. We decided we couldn't risk tippin' anyone off so made sure the letter got to you. I'm sorry we couldn't spare you that."

Athos nodded in agreement. He understood their desperate need for subterfuge.

Treville picked up the story as he recounted being at the palace and finding out that Athos had left after receiving a dispatch. They had been hurrying back to the garrison, only to find that d'Artagnan had left with false red guards.

Athos felt his heart rate jump up as it pounded in his chest. It was all because of him. As Treville finished up the details of how they had made it to la Fére, he felt himself drowning. His throat throbbed painfully and his mind reminded him of the sight of d'Artagnan caught in a hangman's noose. He stared at the floor and tried to calm his racing thoughts.

"Athos?"

The urgency in his captain's voice finally broke through the horrifying reverie and he looked up.

"I said, there were more letters weren't there?"

Athos nodded miserably. "They began weeks ago. I thought it was somebody judging me over Anne. I had no idea they were _from _her. Until she started to tell me her plans." He choked on the words as he recalled the fear. She was totally capable of delivering on her threats and almost had.

"You think she was simultaneously sending letters to d'Artagnan?" Aramis felt his fists clench in anger at the newest revelation.

Treville looked at his men and noted the fury on each face. "Yes, I do. I guess we will need to wait until morning for an answer to that question."

To Athos, morning could not come quickly enough. Nobody had asked yet, but he knew he had one last duty to perform. His wife's body needed to be buried. The latest piece of the puzzle chewed at his insides and he felt the desperate need to finish the job. He walked to the window and stared out into the courtyard below. It would be easy enough to issue orders and have the job done for him without the need to so much as raise a sweat. His hands clenched onto the windowsill and he imagined them wrapped around the handle of a shovel. He had no intention of handing this responsibility off to anybody else.


	18. Chapter 18

This seems like a very sombre chapter, but it just would not work any other way I tried.

**Chapter Eighteen**

The sun had not even begun to rise before Athos was up and fully dressed. He had eventually gone back to bed, although sleep had eluded him for the rest of the night. His throat throbbed painfully, but it was nothing compared to the pain inside him. The fresh revelation of his wife's cruelty stole the breath out of his chest. There seemed to be no limit to the damage she had done and he knew there was only one way he could hope to bring any kind of healing.

Treville watched him moving about quietly in the pre-dawn light. His night had been equally sleepless and his body ached from the stress of the day before as well as the uncomfortable chair he had spent much of the night in. Finally he noted Athos heading for the door with his weapons belt clutched tightly in his hand and he stood up to follow.

As he made it out onto the landing he made his presence known.

"I hope you aren't planning to go out there alone."

Athos paused at the bannister but did not turn around. He gripped the railing to hold himself still. A firm hand on his shoulder was almost his undoing and he closed his eyes to steady himself.

"I was looking for breakfast."

Treville smiled at the obvious lie, but went along with it.

"Good idea. I think we could all do with something filling." He bypassed Athos and headed down the stairs, fully expecting the man to follow him. "When we are done, we will see about supplies to get the job done. And then I need to send a dispatch back to the garrison since we have effectively all just disappeared!"

Athos nodded at the practicality of the directive and followed down the stairs. The truth was, he'd hoped to quietly escape into the dark before anybody woke up, but he realised he should have known better. His captain did not miss a thing. A part of him was annoyed that he had not been quick enough to make his escape while a larger part of him was grateful he would not be alone.

By the time the two of them returned upstairs, carrying trays of food, both Porthos and Aramis were also up and dressed. It surprised him that d'Artagnan was still sleeping as the farm boy was usually an early riser. Athos placed his tray on the table and waved a hand towards it as he moved over to sit on the edge of the bed. The light of the sun was just beginning to break through the window and it was enough to see the extent of the ugly bruising on his young friend.

D'Artagnan lay sprawled across the pillow with the left side of his body exposed. Even in sleep he had managed to avoid his injured side. His face was a mass of colour and his shoulder was still swollen and turning black along a wide crescent. The bandage around his waist would need changing and Athos swallowed back the anger rising up his throat.

Aramis suddenly appeared at his side with a plate of food.

"Eat."

The instruction was simple and he looked up to see his friend watching him, as if expecting a challenge.

"He won't wake for a while yet."

The quirk of his lips told Athos all he needed to know. The pain draught he'd given the lad during the night was strong. He picked at the plate of food in his hand and noted Aramis was still standing beside him, arms crossed over his chest. He felt a momentary flash of annoyance that he did not need a nursemaid, but complied anyway. He had work to do and his body needed strength.

By the time he was done eating, d'Artagnan still had not awoken. Aramis was still hovering nearby and he frowned slightly as he knew his friends had already planned the morning, whether or not he agreed. Aramis would stay and watch his patient while the three of them went to finish what needed to be done. He had planned to go alone, but suddenly he felt very relieved he would have company for the awful task.

* * *

The room slowly came into focus and it seemed far too quiet. Something wafted past his nose and his stomach growled in response.

"Good to know you are hungry. A growing lad needs food." The smile in the voice was apparent even without seeing Aramis' face and d'Artagnan found himself smiling in response. His stomach reminded him again it had been far too long without food and he slowly rolled over onto his back. The movement made his muscles tense and he grimaced in pain. As he opened his eyes, Aramis was already hovering over the top of him.

'Easy there. Go slowly." He propped pillows up behind him and helped to ease him into a sitting position. "How do you feel?"

D'Artagnan glanced around the room and noted they were alone. He looked at Aramis in alarm.

"It's all right. They'll be back later." He sat down on the edge of the bed and began running his hands over his patient's injuries. "I will change that bandage after you have eaten."

"They've gone to bury her, haven't they?"

Aramis nodded and frowned as d'Artagnan dropped his gaze.

"Is something wrong?"

He waited a few moments as his friend fiddled with the blanket in between his fingers, but did not respond. Finally he looked up, his face a mixture of raw emotions.

D'Artagnan swallowed a gulp of air before trying to answer the question.

"What does it say about me that I wanted to see her body?"

Aramis nodded slowly before answering. "I would say, it puts you on the same level as all of us."

D'Artagnan looked away and shook his head at himself. "I wanted her dead. More than that … I wanted to kill her."

There was no need to explain any further as the depth of emotion was written all over his face. Aramis smiled as he thought it was no wonder the lad could not keep pace at card games. His face betrayed him every time. Suddenly he reeled in the incongruous thought and turned serious again. As he looked up, d'Artagnan was frowning at him.

"We all did. As for having proof that she really is dead, Treville would not have left last night until he was sure. And Athos will not return until he is sure."

D'Artagnan nodded at him, but a part of him still felt as if he had been cheated.

* * *

The ride back to the inn was a silent and sombre trek. Athos trailed behind the other two men and every so often they would cast a backwards glance to check he was still there. D'Artagnan's horse walked on a lead rope behind Porthos, having been used to transport the body. Treville felt it was somehow fitting that the woman who had tormented them both had taken her last ride to her grave on his horse. He noted how different the return trip was to their outgoing trip. Athos had taken the lead and the other two had kept pace on either side of him, like some kind of guard detail.

It was still early morning when they had arrived at the burned out remains of Athos' former home and the sun was just beginning to burn off the dew. It was an eerie sight to ride into the courtyard as faint mist rose from the ground. Treville sighed in relief to see the body was still lying where he had left it the night before. He mentally kicked himself as if he had somehow expected her to get up and leave when he turned his back. The notion was ridiculous, but he had learned too late not to underestimate the woman.

Athos had dismounted and slowly walked to where the body lay. The others had waited by the horses, uncertain of what he planned to do. For some time he simply stood and stared at the blue of the cloak. He had come to associate the colour with honour and courage and everything the musketeers stood for. It was the antithesis of everything his wife had become. Finally he crouched down and began to carefully undo the Captain's knot work. After all that had happened, he needed to see for himself. He slowly peeled back the edge of the cloak and frowned as first her dark curls and then finally her face was revealed. It was clear she had died in pain as her facial muscles were still contorted, even in death. He had no doubt she had died cursing him with her last breath.

As he retied the rope around the cloak, he felt his friends on either side of him. Porthos lifted the body and placed it over the back of d'Artagnan's horse. He would have preferred to drag it behind the horse, but didn't consider Athos would find that acceptable.

"Where to?" Treville sat on his horse and waited for an answer, but Athos simply rode away towards the back of the building. The two men had followed with the third horse in tow as he led them off down a winding trail. Almost an hour later they found themselves on the edge of a forest. Athos pulled his horse up and stared at the trees.

"This is the end of my land."

It was a simple comment, but spoke volumes. His wife would not be afforded the honour of being buried on his ancestral lands. Instead, she would be buried in an unmarked grave, deep in a forest, where nobody would ever know. She would not be mourned or given any kind of formality. No kind of monument would ever tell anybody of her life.

It was well into the day by the time they began the return journey. As they neared the house again, Athos had stopped once again. He asked them to return to the inn as he had one last thing to do. Treville would have agreed to almost anything to help the man in his grief, but leaving him alone was not one of them. Instead they agreed to wait a little way up the road for him. Athos seemed ready to argue when he caught his captain's eye. He nodded in agreement and turned his horse in another direction. Porthos looked at Treville and wondered what he had missed.

"He's going to tell his brother it's over."

Porthos felt a chill wash over him. It had taken too many years, but finally the young man would have some justice and just maybe, Athos could begin to rebuild his life.

It was over an hour later before the three of them were once again on the road towards the inn. Athos felt his mind going off in a hundred different directions and he had long since given up trying to control it. His horse seemed content to play follow-the-leader and he gave it enough slack in the reins to do so. While his head was running full tilt, his chest felt empty. He had expected to feel something, but instead he simply felt numb. He looked down at his hands and noted the dirt encrusted under his nails. The innkeeper had supplied them with shovels and been astute enough not to ask questions. Perhaps the silent stance of Porthos alongside Treville had done it, but Athos knew the gossip would have done the rounds anyway. He was beyond caring, as he felt bone-weary. The only thing keeping him seated in the saddle was the knowledge he was returning to his friends.

As they slowly made their way back, it struck him as ironic that the roadside was lined with tiny blue flowers.

As if there was any chance he could ever forget his wife.


	19. Chapter 19

Every time I think I'm close to wrapping up, more of this story just crawls out of the woodwork. I think a large part of that is because of wonderful reader interaction so thank you for that. I'm not sure if Athos will ever talk to me again after this story!

**Chapter Nineteen**

The innkeeper had lived in the village his entire life and had seen two comtes come and go in his lifetime. Athos' father had been a hard-nosed man who issued orders and expected them to be done. There was no room for anything short of full and immediate compliance. For all that, he was a fair and just man who was well respected. He had passed away from a fever one particularly bad winter and his eldest son had suddenly found responsibility thrust on his shoulders that he felt ill-equipped to handle. The village had mourned with him, but he had married within a year and the village had then celebrated with him. It seemed their young comte was growing into his role, even if he did seem reserved around people. The hopes of children in the grand house never seemed to come to fruition, but the young comte was clearly besotted with his beautiful wife. His younger brother had always been far more affable and enjoyed time in the village, walking amongst the people as though he were born one of them instead of into privilege. Of course, the fact he bore none of the responsibility his older brother did, made that a whole lot easier to do.

The innkeeper vividly recalled the day the village had buzzed with the tragic news that Thomas had died suddenly. Nothing was forthcoming about the cause of death and just as suddenly both the Comte and Comtess had disappeared. The village ran rife with rumours of foul play. Spinning theories became their entertainment for many months, especially as the winter weather drove them all indoors. Somehow the estate continued to function, taxes were collected and decisions were made, but nobody quite knew how. Servants who had worked for the Comte had all been dismissed and the stately home was sealed up as if holding its breath for its owners to return. They never did and the house and grounds slowly slipped into disrepair.

Years later the village rumour mill had spun to life once again as some said they had seen the Comte riding through the village, dressed as a musketeer with an injured man and other musketeers with him. Shortly after, his home had been razed to the ground and nobody was still any the wiser to the cause. The flames had been visible from the village and as some had rushed out to see for themselves, it was clear there was nothing they could do to stop it. There was also no sign of the Comte. The husk of a building had been left where it stood, with nobody to care.

The innkeeper had immediately recognised his comte as he arrived at the inn. It had been some years, but the man had an unmistakable quality about him that made him impossible to forget. Once again, he arrived dressed as a musketeer and once again he had an injured soldier with him. It seemed it was only desperation that brought him back to their village and the innkeeper wondered why.

He wanted to ask questions, but knew it was beneath the Comte to answer them for him. He would not dare, although curiosity burned at him. Added to the man's strange appearances and behaviour, was the fact he asked for shovels. Why would a man of his station need to be engaged in anything so menial as digging? And why did he and his friends ride away with an extra horse and not bring back anything or anyone?

He wandered back into the tavern and noted the same questions being muttered in various ways around him. The village was abuzz with theories again and he leaned in to see if any were better than his own. He did not immediately notice when the party arrived back from wherever they had gone. The door opened and three men slipped up the stairs without so much as a glance in the direction of the tavern. He noticed them half way up the stairs and debated staying put, but finally decided there was a possible way to get answers. He followed the men up the stairs and knocked at the door to their room.

He stepped back as the largest of the men opened the door and glared at him.

"Ahhh, sorry to intrude, but I wondered if you needed anything. Water to wash up? Food?" He spread his hands wide as he waited for an answer and tried to catch a glimpse behind the man in the doorway.

Porthos turned to look at his friends and nodded. "Hot water, towels and a meal for five." With that he slammed the door closed and nodded as he heard footsteps scurrying down the stairs.

Athos leaned against the window and stared blankly into the courtyard below. People came and went under his gaze, but he wasn't paying attention to any of it and saw nothing. Horses' hooves on cobblestones echoed up at him, but he heard nothing. His mind was still running elsewhere and he could clearly see the curves and lines of his former home. The people of the village had been proud of their ancestral heritage, but he felt nothing. The people he was duty-bound to protect would not think much of their comte this day. He did not notice when the innkeeper returned with the things Porthos had requested. He did eventually feel Treville move over to stand beside him, but he still could not make himself move. His body seemed to have become rooted to the spot and his mind would not register what to do.

"Athos, you need to clean up." Treville waved a towel towards him and pointed across to the pitcher of hot water and soap. The vacant stare that came back at him frightened him. Athos was one of the strongest people he knew, but he also knew that everybody had their breaking point. He refused to believe his lieutenant had hit his and he nudged the man towards the water. Finally Athos complied and began to scrub the dirt out of his skin. He watched the fresh, clean water quickly become muddy with scum and he frowned at it. Was it really that easy to scrub off his sins? He stared at his hands and watched as blood dripped from them into the water. He clenched his hands into fists and tried to make the blood stop.

Suddenly he realised somebody was speaking to him and he turned to see Aramis beside him. He had frozen half way through cleaning his hands and disappeared into his thoughts. Aramis quietly reached out to pour fresh water over his hands before passing the towel to him. As Athos wiped the last of the moisture away, he felt a cup being pressed into his hands. The blood had moved from his hands and somebody had collected it in a cup. He had no idea why anybody would do such a thing.

The dark liquid drew him in as his body responded involuntarily to the smell of the sweet wine. He stared at the blood-red liquid and slowly swirled it around. Something about it made his knees fail him and if it had not been for Aramis standing beside him, he would have fallen. He grasped the cup as if his life depended on it and he allowed himself to be steered to the edge of the bed, still cradling it in both hands.

"Drink it."

The words floated aimlessly around him and he continued to stare at the contents of the cup. Suddenly he felt somebody sit beside him and a hand rested on his shoulder.

"Athos?"

The liquid stared accusingly back at him and his mind wandered away again.

"Athos, please … answer me. You're scaring me!" The urgency in the words penetrated the fog in his brain and he turned to see d'Artagnan only inches away from his face. He nodded in slow comprehension of what was happening. It had only been moments ago those same eyes had been filled with tears and pleading with him about something. If only he could remember what.

"I'm sorry." He whispered in a vain attempt to make those eyes look away. He could not bear their scrutiny of his failings. He had blood on his hands and blood in a cup and there was blood dribbling down all over that face! He felt the cup tumble out of his fingers and he reached out urgently to the face in front of him.

"I'm sorry!"

He grasped d'Artagnan's face with both hands and felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he tried to wipe away the blood. He could not make sense of his thoughts, but an intense fear threatened to knock him to the floor. More blood had been spilled and it was all his fault.

"I'm sorry!"

His breath caught in his throat and he felt a restriction as if he was being choked. Hands wrapped round his throat and squeezed the life out of him. He clawed desperately at his throat and felt the world tilting sideways as darkness closed in. The smell of blood in the air made him gag and he fell forwards. D'Artagnan grabbed at him and wrapped both arms around the man to pin his flailing hands down. He felt the violent tremors under his arms and tried to pick up the incoherent words being mumbled against his chest. He looked over Athos' shoulder to see Aramis hovering behind him. He looked as helpless as d'Artagnan felt. Somewhere behind him he could hear low voices and knew Porthos and Treville were also right there. It helped to know he was surrounded by them, but he had no idea what to do. He simply sat and held onto the man he loved like a brother. Eventually he felt Athos' tightly wound body go limp in his arms.

Aramis sat down behind Athos and slowly eased him back out of d'Artagnan's arms. He appeared to be asleep and Aramis rolled him gently onto his side on the bed. The look on his face was chilling as he realised Aramis had no idea what to do either. Treville pulled a blanket from the end of the bed and draped it over Athos' too-still form.

"His mind is overwhelmed. He has been on high alert for too long." It sounded so matter-of-fact and simple. "I have seen it before … after the intensity of a long battle. He needs to sleep. I can only guess, but I think it has been many days since he slept well."

A loud knock on the door startled them all and Porthos marched across to answer it. He yanked open the door and the maid on the other side nearly dropped her tray. She squeaked in fear and thrust the tray towards him before disappearing down the stairs. The rich aroma of meat filled the room.

Treville walked over to pick up a bowl. "We all need to eat. There's no telling how long this night will be and we will need the energy to deal with it." He handed a bowl to Porthos and began filling another.

D'Artagnan had not moved from the bed and he made eye contact with Aramis. His friend nodded in encouragement, but his eyes betrayed him. He was frightened by what he had just witnessed. Treville may have seen it before, but none of them ever wanted to see it again.

D'Artagnan moved solely on instinct and slid over closer to where Athos was now sleeping. The man he considered to be virtually indestructible suddenly looked so very vulnerable and broken. He had no real idea of what he was doing, other than to make physical connection and hopefully bring some comfort. He reached out a hand and gripped hold of Athos' arm firmly. As he leaned in closer to whisper into his friend's ear, he found himself pouring out the words he had kept carefully hidden for weeks. He startled as he suddenly felt Athos grasp hold of his shirt.

_The ground flowed and ebbed under his feet as he walked. It was like walking in a field of ripe grain as it blew in the wind. Except it was the ground that was moving and not any kind of plant he had ever seen. His legs felt heavy and clumsy as he tried to navigate his way forward, although he had no idea of where he was going. He just felt a sense of urgency that he should leave where he was and find something. Whatever it was, it seemed tantalizingly just out of his reach. _

_Far ahead of him a blue cloak fluttered in the wind. The wearer seemed oblivious to his presence. His mind could not explain why, but the colour drew him forward. It was safety. Whoever it was could not hear him calling to them as they continued to walk away from him. He tried to run and his feet tangled in the soft earth. He pitched forward into the dirt and found himself suffocating. Suddenly he felt a hand grasping his arm and pulling him free of the dirt. He gasped and breathed deeply as though his lungs had never felt air through them before. The blue cloak hovered in front of him as he reached out to latch onto it. Something about it brought a sense of peace as he closed his eyes and for the first time in a long time, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep._


	20. Chapter 20

Well it's 2:30 in the morning and after the kind of week I'd like to forget it seems that this story is my way of shaking off the crud. I think I need to sleep, but Athos was having a sulk and wouldn't leave me alone until I made an attempt to put Humpty back together. So I found some duct tape and set to work on him.

**Chapter Twenty**

"We need to leave this place. Is d'Artagnan fit for the journey home?" Treville kept his voice low as he spoke to two of his men. The other two appeared to be asleep, but he was not taking any risks of causing further unintended distress.

Aramis looked across at the two men sleeping nearby and he understood what his captain wanted to know. Did Athos' needs override d'Artagnan's? He agreed that Athos desperately needed to be clear of the village and his crippling memories. If they traveled slowly, d'Artagnan would manage, especially if he understood their need to leave. Aramis had no doubt that he would, given how astute he had already been at reading Athos' needs when none of them felt sure of what to do. He had somehow found a way to connect through the depths of Athos' distress and pull him back from the edge.

Aramis nodded his head. "I will give him something to ease the pain before we leave and hopefully it will dull his senses for the ride. I don't dare give him much, but he will manage."

Treville nodded in understanding of what had _not _been said. They needed d'Artagnan to have his wits about him, as he seemed to be the only one really able to get through to Athos at present.

"We each need to sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day and we may find ourselves having to stop before we reach Paris. I don't think we need to keep a watch, so get some rest while you can."

Porthos growled in response before stretching himself out across the floor with his cloak and a pillow. The innkeeper had suggested they may take another room for the night, but none of them was prepared to sleep anywhere else. Aramis was making himself ready across the room while Treville still leaned against the wall.

"Captain? You said it yourself, he doesn't need a guard. He's well able to wake us if need be."

Treville frowned at the comment. Twice so far, Athos had woken them up as his torment had overwhelmed his sleep. Both times it was d'Artagnan who managed to get through to him and restore some semblance of peace. He had known it would be a long night and his own exhaustion was quickly pulling him towards sleep.

"Agreed."

* * *

"_Go to Spain, England, anywhere. I don't care. But if you ever show your face in Paris again, I will kill you, without hesitation." _

_The words rolled out of the darkness and he felt himself drowning under their weight. As he looked down at his hands they were dripping with blood._

_Her blood. _

_He had killed her and now she was gone._

_Everyone was gone._

_He was being punished for his sins._

_The silent emptiness of the street seemed unnatural and his footsteps echoed around him, as if the whole city was devoid of life. Paris without her people left a hollow, aching feeling in the pit of his stomach. Words failed to express the depth of his sadness and he groaned in pain. _

_He was alone in the never-ending darkness._

_As he deserved to be._

On an everyday basis, Athos was not very demonstrative, unlike Aramis or even Porthos. He kept himself aloof and separate from those around him. That meant the rare times he initiated physical contact were even more deeply felt by those around him.

D'Artagnan lay on his side and watched as Athos' face once again betrayed his inner torment. His friend may have been deeply asleep, but his nightmare kept surfacing with almost clockwork regularity. He had no clue what he was doing, but somehow it seemed to be working to draw Athos out of the darkness and back into a semi-peaceful sleep each time he made contact.

"_I am right here. Just hold onto me. Don't let her take you with her."_

_The words chased the darkness and even though he could not see anyone else, he somehow felt he was not alone anymore. Someone was looking for him in the inky blackness._

D'Artagnan grasped Athos' arms in his hands and continued talking quietly, but urgently. He wondered if his words were actually being absorbed or if they were just falling on deaf ears. His mind refused to acknowledge the very real fear that Athos had been pushed past his limit. He would come back. The alternative was not an option.

Aramis lay on the floor and listened as d'Artagnan somehow managed to pull their friend back from the brink again. For all his knowledge of healing, he was totally out of his depth. He listened as Athos' breathing returned to a regular pattern and it seemed he had fallen into sleep again. Treville was right. They needed to get Athos out of this cursed place before he completely lost his mind.

* * *

The morning air was crisp and clear as Porthos lead the last of the horses out of the stables. Treville had already decided they would forgo breakfast and instead take travel rations with them. It would get them out of the village faster and leave less time for Athos to give them any objections. He waited with the horses until he saw Aramis heading out of the inn's side door, followed closely by the rest of their group.

All of them looked weary, but Athos looked grey under the rim of his hat. His eyes were barely aware of his surroundings and Porthos noted d'Artagnan and Treville walked on either side of him, as if guiding him to his horse. He spat on the ground at the sight of the man who should have been honoured in this place. Instead he had nearly been broken by it. Suddenly he understood the depth of Athos' concern for him that he had allowed them to go to his ancestral home when Porthos had been injured. It must have carved him up inside to be back in the house that held such cruel memories.

He held out the reins as Athos hauled himself up into the saddle. D'Artagnan was barely able to contain a groan as his shoulder objected to him putting any strain on it, although he also managed to get himself into the saddle.

Treville turned his horse towards the road and moved off without a backward glance. His men followed and the group silently rode out of the village. It was many miles down the road before any of them felt like speaking.

* * *

Aramis pulled alongside Treville, debating what he needed to do. He knew his captain trusted his judgment in matters of medical issues and usually he felt relatively confident in making a decision. Nothing about this day made him confident and he had been second guessing himself since they left the comfort of the inn. D'Artagnan had accepted the small pain reliever he had ground up earlier in the morning and had not asked for anything since. Under normal circumstances, Aramis would have insisted they stop to allow the lad to rest. Instead, he felt the urgent need to press on and make up as much ground as they could before nightfall. They had eaten travel rations without stopping and he wondered if he was pushing too hard.

Treville looked at him and waited. He understood the weight of the decision all to well. If they pushed too hard, it was d'Artagnan who would suffer the consequences. If they delayed and spent the night on the road, there was no telling how Athos would fare.

"We will not make it by nightfall, but I believe it is best for us to keep going."

"I agree."

He glanced back over his shoulder and noted Porthos bringing up the rear, as though nudging the other two forward. Both men looked tired, but both had spent their lives in the saddle and he knew they could stay the distance.

* * *

D'Artagnan shifted the reins into his right hand and stretched out his left arm to flex the stiff muscles in his shoulder. The motion brought a wash of pain down his left side and he closed his eyes to ward it off. Aramis had given him something earlier in the day, but he had understood when he didn't get anything further. He had a job to do and he needed a clear head. It was hard enough without his senses being dulled with herbs.

He glanced over to look at Athos and was expecting to see the man staring at the back of his horse's head as he had been for miles. Instead he looked across at d'Artagnan. The first faint flicker of recognition made his heart rate step up a notch and he smiled. Treville was right when he said they needed to get out of la Fére. Athos needed to go home. To his real home.

They rode on for some distance before d'Artagnan heard Athos clearing his throat. The angry red welt across his neck was only partially concealed by his collar and Aramis had only managed to get salve on it when he was sure Athos was completely out to it. His vocal chords were still husky as he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry."

D'Artagnan barely caught the words and he nudged his horse closer. As if sensing what was coming, Porthos dropped his horse back and the two of them found themselves alone on the road as Treville and Aramis were well ahead of them.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

Athos shook his head and tried to find the words he so desperately needed.

"I am sorry that you were ever dragged into this mess. She has stolen much from you too."

D'Artagnan stared ahead as the words sunk in. He had heard Treville's summation the night before and could only agree. His father would still be alive if Milady had not sought to destroy her husband. He could not and would not let Athos take any shred of blame for that. Instead he turned towards his friend and forced on a smile.

"She cannot take from either of us ever again. We are both free."

The look of pain that crossed Athos' face made him reach out a hand and grasp his arm.

"I do not know that I will ever be free."

The sadness behind the comment clawed at him and he felt anger welling up within him. She was dead and she would not keep his friend bound to her.

"Then I will consider it my life's mission to set you free!" He held his hand across his chest as he made the pledge, but he didn't dare make eye contact.

D'Artagnan knew he wasn't playing fair, using the man's sense of honour to get through to him, but the battle was not fair and he needed whatever he could get hold of. He almost laughed at the look on Athos' face as he finally looked to see if his comment had hit home.

"You have a far greater mission ahead of you. I told Treville I think you have it in you to be the greatest of us all. I expect in a hundred years from now, they will still be telling tales of your deeds."

D'Artagnan snorted at the idea, but felt a rush of relief as his friend seemed to be coming back out of the darkness. He was not foolish enough to believe it would be that easy, but he was happy to take what he could.

They rode for a while in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Finally Athos looked across at him.

"I do thank her for one thing. I wish it could have been different for you, but in a round about way, she brought you to me. She took one brother from me and unintentionally gave me another one."

The light was beginning to fade and d'Artagnan was glad of it as his face twisted with pain. One stranger's decision had changed the course of his life, irrevocably. Another decision had set him on a path to the life he now had. If he had not agreed to help clear Athos' name, he would not have traveled the path he had. He could not imagine his life without the men around him and was glad he had chosen well that day. She was wrong when she said he had chosen the wrong man.

He noticed that Treville and Aramis had stopped a way up the road and were waiting for them to catch up.

"It is still some hours to Paris and will soon be dark. Do you need to stop or should we keep going?"

Athos looked like he was half asleep in the saddle, but he straightened himself at the Captain's question. He looked across at d'Artagnan and wondered how the lad was faring. He saw nothing to betray his discomfort, but he knew his shoulder at least must be causing him pain.

"Since d'Artagnan is the one carrying injuries, it should be up to him."

If the plan had been to get Athos out of the poisonous atmosphere of la Fére, then surely the best course meant getting him back into familiar surroundings as soon as possible. D'Artagnan reasoned that his shoulder would be sore no matter what he did, but the slow, steady improvement in Athos over the course of the day was worth the cost. His friend needed to go home.

"We keep going."


	21. Chapter 21

Thank you lovely people for your reviews and messages. You make my day!

**Chapter Twenty One**

Marcel pushed at the food in his bowl and tried to swallow the spoonful he had shoveled in. He wondered again why he was so bothered by the fact none of the men had returned yet. It wasn't like they were going to allow him to stay once they came back anyway. The thing was, he'd seen the type of men who came out of that tavern and what they did to people.

Serge gathered up the various bits left from supper and watched as the boy sat off to one side and played with his stew. It wasn't like him to knock back food and he wondered what was going on. Most of the men had moved off, although a couple still sat at various spots, cleaning weapons or talking quietly. The garrison had a strange feel to it over the last few days, since Treville had ridden out and not come back. They'd all seen or heard about the dispatch rider who'd come with something urgent for Denier, but the man had remained tight-lipped. It didn't bode well for their comrades and the tension had risen a notch or two. Perhaps the lad was simply picking up on that, Serge reasoned to himself.

After finishing his work, he looked across to see Marcel still sitting where he had parked himself, against a far wall. With nothing needing his attention and time on his hands, he wandered over to where the boy sat. The light from the wall sconces flickered in the faint breeze and it looked as though the boy was trying to keep himself hidden in the shadows.

"Something bothering you, me boy?"

Marcel looked up, startled out of his reverie. He stared up at the face of the old man and wondered what to say. He wasn't used to anybody caring what he thought. For that matter, he wasn't used to old people. Where he came from, most people didn't live that long. He had wondered about the old man who fed the troops and managed the needs of the garrison, but had never been confident enough to ask. He'd just assumed he was a musketeer who got too old to ride his horse.

"Not like a strapping young lad like you to leave food in his bowl."

Marcel looked down to see that he still had cold stew sitting in the bottom of the bowl and he gulped in surprise. Never in his life had he experienced the luxury of being too full to leave food uneaten. He hastily scooped the remains into his mouth and swallowed. Once the men came back, he would probably be turned out on his ear and with no more coin forthcoming either, he had no idea where his next meal would come from.

Serge knew his knees would not withstand him sitting down on the ground next to the boy so tried a different tactic.

"Can you give me a hand with taking these things back? My back isn't what it used to be."

Marcel scrambled to his feet and followed Serge over to where he had trays and bowls stacked on a table. Before they could gather up anything, both of them heard horses coming towards the garrison. Marcel ran towards the gate and was disappointed to see two men riding straight past. He clung to the wall and stared down the alleyway, as if expecting to see more riders coming back. Darkness had long since closed in and he suddenly remembered that Serge was waiting for him.

The older man watched as the boy trudged back towards him. He smiled to himself as he'd seen the way the lad watched Porthos whenever he was around. The fact they had a common background was not lost on the older man. He'd been there when Porthos had first arrived at the garrison and while there were some who thought he didn't have what it took to become a musketeer, he wasn't so sure. He saw tenacity and determination. He saw a heart that matched the man's size. He saw a man who grasped hold of a second chance and gave it all he had. He had been among those who had cheered loudest the day he earned his commission.

Musketeering was a young man's game and Serge had long passed the time when he could keep up with them. His body may not be there, but his heart still was and he was just as concerned as Marcel. It was not like Treville to just leave the way he had and the fact the men who had all left under escort of red guards had not returned, was not sitting well with any of them.

He silently handed a tray of dirty bowls to the lad and pointed towards the scullery door. He slowly gathered up the rest of the things and followed after him, but not before turning to take one last look at the gate. As he walked into the scullery, he saw Marcel sitting on a stool chewing on an apple. The deep furrow on his forehead betrayed his thoughts and Serge simply began washing up. After fifteen minutes of silence from the end of the bench, he finally stopped what he was doing, wiped his hands on a cloth and sat down.

"All right then. Young ones like you aren't built to carry the whole world on your shoulders."

Marcel stared at him as though he were speaking a foreign language.

"I just meant, you look like you are carrying a heavy weight over there. Maybe you could do with someone to help."

The boy frowned in confusion. What was it about this place where people seemed to confuse him on a daily basis? Finally he decided he had nothing left to lose.

"Do you know about the place that lives in here?" He pointed to his chest and chewed on his bottom lip. "Your consh … con … the bit that tells you when you messed something up?"

Serge nodded slowly and smiled. "You mean your conscience? Yeah, I know about that place."

Marcel swallowed and tried to find the right words. "The nun once told me it hurts here when you got something wrong."

"And yours hurts?" Serge turned serious again.

Marcel nodded miserably.

"How do you make it stop hurting?"

"Well, s'far as I know, you have to do something to fix what you did wrong. If you can."

Marcel stared at him as tears threatened in his eyes. "What if you can't?"

"Well … I guess you can try and tell someone you are sorry."

"What if they don't believe you?"

Serge leaned across the table and tapped the wood in front of the boy. "If you are really sorry, they'll know."

Marcel leaned his chin on his fist and tried to pull himself together. "If they don't believe me … they'll make me leave."

And finally, there was the crux of the problem. Serge had been around long enough to know that orphaned children did not always survive on the streets of his city.

"If it helps, I have been here a long time. Someone once told me this was a place for second chances. Where people get to start over. I've seen it happen for others, so I don't see why it can't be for you."

For the first time all night, he noticed a glint of hope in the boy's face. He stood up and went back to cleaning up, leaving the lad to chew over his words.

It was some time later that they both heard it. A commotion in the outer yard had Marcel on his feet and running for the door. Serge followed after him, albeit at a much slower pace.

A small crowd had already gathered in the courtyard and Marcel pushed his way along the edge of it. He stared as five men rode slowly into the enclosed yard, led by their captain. Treville slid down from his horse and was greeted by Denier and several other men. The group was quickly surrounded by concerned friends and helping hands reached out for the clearly exhausted riders. D'Artagnan watched as Athos climbed down unassisted from his horse and he rushed to make it to his side. The ache in his body reminded him that he was far from well and he grasped at the horse's stirrup to steady himself. Athos pushed closer to him and he felt an arm around his shoulder, keeping him from swaying. It struck him as wrong because it was Athos who needed tending, not him. That idea very quickly got trampled on as Aramis appeared in front of them and began issuing instructions.

Marcel watched as the men made their way across the practice yard, towards the living quarters and he quickly scrambled to lead a horse into the stable. Perhaps if he could show them how good a job he did taking care of their horses, he might get a chance to begin to make amends.

With unspoken agreement, Aramis and Athos steered d'Artagnan towards his quarters as Porthos hurried ahead to find the things he knew from experience that Aramis would want. Treville had disappeared somewhere, presumably to debrief Denier and catch up on anything he needed to know of from their time away.

It wasn't long before Aramis had finished grinding out a pain draught and had it steeping beside him while he began to check over his first patient. It was clear to all of them that d'Artagnan was in pain and had been for some time. Athos felt his anger rising that the foolish boy had not said anything, although he had a nagging suspicion about why that was. He leaned against the wall and watched as Aramis inspected the stitches on d'Artagnan's forehead. He seemed satisfied with what he saw and decided to leave the bandage off. The stitches would come out in another day or so and the bruising was turning yellow. The eyelid had almost returned to a normal size and he was happy with how it was progressing.

His shoulder was another story altogether. As he gently manipulated the joint to check for motion and tightness, he caught the sudden intake of a sharp breath and knew he had hit a nerve. Without speaking, he reached over for the cup and handed it over. D'Artagnan didn't even bother asking how strong it was before downing the entire cup. That concerned him even more, because usually he got challenged before any of them would drink anything he mixed if they thought he was trying to knock them out.

The bruising was also turning yellow across d'Artagnan's back, but the swelling that had begun to subside, had increased again. Aramis frowned as he considered the strain the joint had taken over the last couple of days, both in the saddle and in helping to restrain Athos. He could only guess the pain level and hoped the draught began its job quickly.

Lastly, he unwound the bandage around d'Artagnan's waist and began redressing the wound. It was still red and sticky and he smeared it with salve before wrapping a fresh bandage over it. He could see the exhaustion in his friend's eyes and he was grateful they had pushed to return to the garrison instead of camping on the road.

"You need to sleep. You are healing well, but you need rest."

He noted that d'Artagnan looked across to where Athos was still standing and he smiled.

"Oh, don't worry; he's next on my list!"

Secure in the knowledge that Athos could not be in better hands, d'Artagnan finally allowed his body to give up the fight and he sagged back onto the pillow. He felt Athos sit down on the bed near him and he listened as Aramis began to gently smear salve across his throat. Since that first one, he had not bothered trying to put a bandage over the wound. He had seen the fear in his friend's face as he tore the bandage off and had no wish to cause that reaction again.

D'Artagnan was almost dozing off when he was jolted awake. Something had slammed onto the floor and he had no idea what it was. He tried to sit up, but felt a hand on his chest holding him back. He settled for looking across the room to where Porthos was standing. His friend looked fit to explode and he suddenly realised what the noise was that awoke him. Porthos had kicked his wooden trunk across the room. What he couldn't fathom, was why.

His head was feeling fuzzy and he tried to focus on what Porthos was ranting about. As his vision focused he sucked in a breath. Porthos had his rolled up travel cloak in one hand and had obviously been stowing it in the trunk. It was what was in his other hand that had his friend so riled up.

D'Artagnan felt Athos grip his shoulder and he turned to look up towards his face. The fury on his friend's face was unmistakable and he frowned, trying to make sense of it all.

"So it's true! She threatened you too!" Athos stared at the letters Porthos held in his hand. He felt sick to his stomach at the newest proof of his wife's despicable acts.

"What do you mean, too?" d'Artagnan felt his mind churning slowly and it was not making sense.

Porthos carried the letters over towards Athos and he took hold of them as though they were poisonous. He began to spread them out and d'Artagnan tried to roll onto his side to see what he was doing. He wanted to reach out and set them on fire to spare Athos the torment, but his body was too slow to respond.

Athos flicked through them all before he turned to look at his young friend. "I do not know how many more times I will have to say this, but I am so sorry she did this to you. Please forgive me for allowing her to drag you into her twisted game too."

"S'not your fault." The draught was almost pulling him back under, but d'Artagnan forced his eyes open again.

"It is my fault! If I had not been afraid of what she may do, I could have found out much sooner that she was threatening you as well as me. We could have dealt with her together instead of being divided. I should have known what to expect from her.

D'Artagnan frowned in confusion as his brain was almost ready to shut down for the night. "She was threatening you too? With what?"

Athos reached out a hand to lay it alongside d'Artagnan's face. "She threatened to take you."

"M'not going anywhere."

The battle against sleep was quickly being lost and he felt his eyes closing against his will. He needed Athos to stop worrying and feeling guilty.

"Would do it all again … if I had to."

Athos choked back an angry retort as he watched d'Artagnan finally slide into a drug-induced sleep. Instead he leaned over and pulled the blanket back over his friend.

"I pray you never have to make that kind of choice again."


	22. Chapter 22

I know this is a silly question, but does anybody know how to get the little thingy (the technical term) over the e when I write la Fere? I am working on a Mac and cannot for the life of me make it do it and it's bugging me. Well one more chapter to go I think and this baby is done. Unless I write the zombie/MacGyver add-on as suggested :-)

PS Thank you for all the messages - I've got it now. Still trying to work out how to drive a Mac.

**Chapter Twenty Two**

The brightness of the morning sunshine belied the strange mood that had settled over the garrison. There had been a mixture of elation at returned comrades, combined with deep concern at their state. To those who had been close enough to see him, Athos looked grey and his eyes were rimmed with red. Something in his physical demeanour had changed, although nobody seemed able to define it. D'Artagnan was clearly carrying injuries and they had each wondered if it was a deterioration from his previous injuries in the stable, or something new. The way Athos wrapped a protective arm around the lad made them step back and clear the way for them. Aramis had moved into his normal mode of dealing with medical needs and Porthos just barreled his way through the group to get his friends to safety.

And then there was Treville. The man rarely gave explanations for his actions, as he did not need to, but his behaviour over recent days had been out of character and therefore of concern to his men. Denier clearly knew something, but had not given anything away. That, of course, gave rise to more worry. Something was very clearly wrong. Any time that red guards poked their noses into the musketeer garrison raised alarm bells ringing. The fact Treville had ridden out alone, for the palace, was also concerning.

Daylight had reached the interior of the stable and Marcel climbed up onto the upturned bucket to continued his job of teasing out the matted hair in the horse's mane. He had done a hasty job the night before of stalling all five horses before dropping asleep in the hay. When he woke in the morning, he could see that he still had a lot of work to do and didn't want to give the men any reason to complain about him. When he didn't appear for breakfast, Serge had come looking for him and found him hard at work. The older man smiled fondly as he watched the lad, standing on his toes trying to reach the top of the horse. Jacques would have had no problem with it, but he was also a good foot taller. The smile quickly dropped away as he wondered how long it would be before Jacques returned to his duties and what that would mean for Marcel.

* * *

Aramis sat on the bench, soaking up the early morning sunshine. He knew it would be a while yet before d'Artagan awoke and he was sure that Athos would call him if anything was required from him. After the events of recent weeks, it felt good to sit and simply watch garrison life roll on around him. The familiarity and routine of the place brought a sense of calm into his spirit and he knew they had made the right choice in heading back from la Fére. Athos had slept reasonably well for the first time in quite a while and d'Artagnan had no choice in the matter after Aramis had given him a strong pain draught.

Porthos was making his way across the yard when Serge headed towards him. Aramis assumed the man was inquiring about breakfast, but looked closer when it appeared the conversation was a little more serious in nature. Porthos was frowning at Serge's words and Aramis wished he was closer and could hear the cause of it. Finally Porthos headed towards him and dropped heavily onto the bench across from him.

"What was that all about?" Aramis hooked a thumb towards where Serge had been moments earlier.

Porthos frowned as he thought about what he was going to do. Aramis sat and waited, wondering what was going on. Finally Porthos looked up at him.

"Milady … she seemed to 'ave a knack for dragging other people into 'er schemes, yeah? Even if they didn't know what she was up to."

Aramis nodded at the question, unsure of where it was leading.

"I mean, she got' er claws into d'Artagnan before 'e knew who she was. She used 'im, but now Athos and 'im are all good."

"My friend, where is this going? Are you concerned there will be any bad blood between the two of them, because I am certain that they have proven that will not be the case."

"No! Not between them!" Porthos shook his head in frustration. "I mean the kid … Marcel."

Suddenly understanding dawned and Aramis turned to look across the yard in the direction of the stable. The boy had been an unwitting pawn in Milady's plot, although he had also willingly handed them the key to saving their friends.

He smiled across at his friend and couldn't resist. "You want to keep him, don't you?"

"'e's not mine to keep!" Porthos looked up to see his friend smirking at him. "And besides, it's not up to me."

Aramis softened at the emotion behind the response. "Nonetheless, you want him to stay."

"She used 'im! She knew that a kid from the streets would jump at the chance of coin. She used 'im to torment our friends and I don't know if … " the comment trailed away as he didn't really know if he wanted the answer.

"If they can forgive him?"

It was a fair question and one that Aramis wasn't sure about the answer.

* * *

Athos slowly pulled on his boots and listened to the sounds of the garrison outside. It was so much a part of his life that he simply soaked in the familiarity of it. The room was quiet save for the faint sound of d'Artagnan sleeping still. He would be forever grateful that his friends had dragged him out of la Fére and brought him home. It had been an exhausting ride back, but he was glad they had pushed on. The place held far too many ugly memories and he felt himself trembling as images replayed in his mind. He looked across the bed at the young man sleeping under the blanket.

When he left his home in la Fére for the first time he had sought death. His choices over the months after had been reckless and many times over he had wished to go to sleep and never wake up again. Each time he drank himself into a stupor, he hoped he would provoke a tavern brawl with somebody who would simply end it all for him. If he died in a gutter somewhere, there would be nobody to mourn him and nobody to care. It struck him as strange that he had been raised on duty and when he needed it most, his sense of duty had fled.

Somehow he had found himself in Paris and fallen into a life that brought partial redemption. He knew it could never really heal or redeem him and he had carefully buried that part of his life, even from those closest to him. As he watched d'Artagnan's features, finally relaxed in sleep, he wondered again how the young man had breached that carefully constructed wall. Nobody, not even Aramis or Porthos had made it that far.

He frowned as he recalled that night when his wife had first tried to kill him. He had begged her to do it. To end the miserable lie he had been living. And then, like a lovesick fool, he had reached out to take hold of her. His stomach churned at the memory. The woman he had once loved was long gone at that point and he had been too drunk to see it.

It was d'Artagnan who had come back for him and he realised he still had no idea why. It was one of those questions that had just never been asked. All of his shame had tumbled out for the lad to see and somehow he had not judged him for it. In the days that followed, there had just never been a right time to speak of it and somehow it had slipped away. Not forgotten, but just stowed away like a box on a shelf.

"I do not understand what I did to deserve you in my life. I have failed in far too many ways. I failed you." He tugged at his collar as the fabric itched against his neck.

D'Artagnan felt the warmth of the blanket over him and it took a moment for his brain to register where he was. It felt like months since he had last slept in his own bed and actually slept without dreaming or jolting awake during the night in fear. He lay still in the warmth of the morning and soaked it up. He could feel movement on the side of the bed and quickly realised it was Athos. The man's presence at his back brought a wash of relief and the events of recent days came flooding back. Before he could open his eyes, he heard a mumbled comment behind him that made his chest constrict. The depth of guilt behind the words made him feel somehow sullied, as if he were the cause of it. He found himself stuck between revealing he was awake and Athos knowing he had been heard, or continuing to deceive the man. He was saved from making a choice by the door opening and boots crossing the floor towards him.

D'Artagnan blinked his eyes open and saw Aramis standing over him with a bowl in one hand and a mug in the other. Porthos had followed in behind him and already passed off breakfast to Athos.

Aramis sat himself down on the bed and smiled. "You are looking better. A good night's sleep will do that."

"It's not like I had much choice. What did you put in that cup you gave me?"

"Secret family recipe. It's been handed down through generations of my family and I would have to forfeit my tongue if I told you."

D'Artagnan burst out laughing at the ridiculous response and Aramis grinned to see he had gotten the desired reaction.

"Now eat!" He waited as d'Artagnan slowly pushed himself up against the wall and then reached out for the bowl. For the first time in some time he had an appetite and it felt good to savor the taste in his mouth. Maybe it was being back in familiar surroundings. Or maybe it was simply knowing that a threat that had hung over his head for weeks, was finally gone. Whatever it was, he felt lighter than he had in a long time.

Until he spotted the letters sitting on the bench.

He frowned as he saw them and Athos followed his gaze to see what had caused the sudden change in mood. All thoughts of food suddenly evaporated for them both.

"You read them?"

He knew from the consistent facial expressions around the room that they had indeed read them. Athos looked like he was going to be sick.

"They virtually match the ones she sent me." His voice was low, but the fury in it was unmistakable. "She was playing a twisted game with the both of us and apparently sending us simultaneous letters."

D'Artagnan closed his eyes and tried to block out the memories. He felt the knife twisting in his chest as he had contemplated what she had threatened. He felt Athos move closer and a hand clamped down firmly on his shoulder. When he finally opened his eyes he could see the same depth of emotion coming back at him.

"Please …. burn them!" He found his hands shaking in anger.

Athos nodded at him. "With pleasure!"

"I wish that … I'm sorry that I lied to you." D'Artagnan looked around at the three men. "To all of you. I'm sorry. But you have to know it wasn't because I didn't trust you! It was just that …" He shook his head in frustration. The woman was dead and she was still causing them problems.

"She didn't ever make idle threats. It seemed safer to keep the secret and try to figure it out alone."

D'Artagnan nodded at Athos' summation. "Exactly."

The four of them sat, each lost in their own memories and fears over the last few weeks.

It was Porthos who finally broke the silent tension.

"I want to make a suggestion. No more secrets. Ever!"

It was so simple. Each of them looked around at the others and slowly began to nod. Before anybody could speak, Porthos jumped in again.

"And no more guilt! She's taken enough from us all. Time for it to stop!"

Athos looked up to see all of them watching him. He frowned at them and tried to find the words to respond.

"I cannot make any promises on that. But I will try. You just may have to give me some time."

"That, we can do." Aramis smiled at him and watched as some of the tension began to ease out of his friend.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty Three**

Treville forced himself to keep a neutral expression on his face. A piece of the puzzle had finally fallen into place and he wanted to reach out and punch the man in front of him. Of course, if he did, he would be promptly arrested and charged with treason against the crown. The First Minister of France did not take kindly to being attacked by anybody, let alone a member of the King's Guard.

The fact the man had been complicit in threats and attacks on two of his own men, made his blood boil. The Cardinal had apparently slipped up and inadvertently given away that he knew about Milady targeting Athos and d'Artagnan. Treville had gone to the palace to let the King know that the person responsible for the threats against the Cardinal had been dealt with. He had been deliberately guarded in his explanation, not wishing to cause Athos any public shame and yet, somehow, the Cardinal had known about the connection. King Louis had missed the snide remark, but Treville knew full well the Cardinal was simply letting him know who was in control.

There was no love lost between the two men, but they were both dedicated to the King and to France and had long ago learned the intricate dance of diplomacy and court intrigue. As much as Treville hated it, the Cardinal seemed to thrive on it. He could not decide if he would share any of what he had discovered with his men or if it was just best to allow sleeping dogs to lie.

Treville had sought to explain how d'Artagnan had been the victim of an attempt to sully his name as a musketeer, but the King did not seem overly interested, although he did agree that d'Artagnan could resume his place on the duty roster. It wasn't until the Queen asked if he was injured during the aborted hunt that he found a possible opening. He managed to get it into the conversation that the lad was uninjured from the fall during the hunt, but was currently carrying injuries from saving a boy from being trampled by a spooked horse. The pregnant woman was immediately concerned at the possible death of a child and Treville felt a spark of hope that d'Artagnan's rightful reputation could be restored quicker than he'd hoped. Of course, the Cardinal looked decidedly displeased, but had no choice other than to hold his tongue in the Queen's presence.

By the time Treville turned his horse out of the palace gates, he was feeling thoroughly exhausted. He headed for the garrison and prayed that the day would improve.

* * *

D'Artagnan lowered himself onto the bench and forced himself to keep a straight face. If Aramis thought he needed to go back to bed, he knew he would have no chance of winning that argument with his three bodyguards. Instead Athos sat down beside him and made a pretense of being interested in the sparring across the yard. He frowned as one of the new recruits made a basic mistake and the older man drilling him pulled a sword stroke against his neck. D'Artagnan winced in sympathy. He'd been on the receiving end of that move too many times. Porthos noted his reaction and laughed.

"I've seen Athos take you out with that one, once or twice!"

"But he has practiced diligently and improved greatly since then."

D'Artagnan heard the pride in the man's voice and he couldn't contain a smile. There had been a time when he thought he had lost Athos' pride in him and it had stung more than he could explain. He closed his eyes to blot out the memory of the look of disappointment on his mentor's face.

"Are you unwell?" Aramis was crouched in front of him before he knew it and he quickly opened his eyes.

"No! No. Just … I just thought of something. It doesn't matter."

It was Porthos who quickly reminded him that they had only just agreed there would be no more secrets.

"I'm sorry. It's just that … there was a time there where it seemed that you thought I had let you down. I never want to be in that position again."

Athos leaned across and wrapped his hand around the back of d'Artagnan's neck.

"I am sorry that I put you in that position. You have never let me down. In fact, you usually exceed my expectations for you."

The warmth of the contact as well as the warmth in the words began to ease the knot in his stomach and d'Artagnan smiled at him.

"I was not exaggerating when I said that I expect they will be telling of your deeds a hundred years from now. You have greatness in you and I am proud to call you my friend."

"And what do you suppose they will write of me, a hundred years from now?"

All of them looked across to see Aramis grinning at them.

"They'll be saying 'ow he cracked 'is skull open falling from a fair lady's window. Or that 'e couldn't win a card game against the greatest card player Paris ever knew." Porthos grinned back at him as he patted his own chest.

"Or that he was the greatest marksman, France ever saw." Athos nodded in deference to his friend's skill and they all sobered a little.

"Or that each of his friends owed him their lives." D'Artagnan reached a hand to his forehead without thinking and Aramis frowned.

"Or that he counted himself one of the luckiest men in all of France to still have his friends close."

The four of them felt the weight of the last few days falling on them with that simple remark. Before anybody could comment further, Athos nodded towards the gate.

"Treville is back."

As the Captain dismounted from his horse, he pulled his cloak back and strode towards the stairs. He made eye contact with the men sitting across the yard from him and pointed at his office. Porthos was too busy watching Marcel leading Treville's horse away and it wasn't until Aramis nudged him that he stood up.

It was clear the Captain was not happy when each of them filed into his office. He walked over to d'Artagnan, appraising him as he approached.

"Are you well enough to be up and around?"

"I'm fine."

Treville ignored the answer and looked towards Aramis, raising an eyebrow.

"He slept well and has eaten breakfast. I think being out and getting some fresh air will be good for him."

D'Artagnan chafed at being talked about, as if his answer didn't matter. He knew it was coming out of concern for his wellbeing, but it still annoyed him.

"Like I said, I feel fine."

Treville fixed him with a stare. "And I'd like you to stay that way. You will follow whatever instructions Aramis gives you. Are we clear?"

"Totally."

Aramis smirked at him as he reluctantly agreed with the order, until Treville turned and glared at him.

The Captain walked around his desk and dropped into his seat. Athos frowned at him as he could see something was bothering him. They all knew he'd been to the palace and it seemed the news from there was bad.

Treville leaned forward on his desk and laced his fingers together. On the ride back from the palace he had made his decision. Considering the nightmare his men had been through, he felt he owed it to them to be completely honest. He just didn't know how each of them would react and he feared that Athos may take it upon himself to do something. He decided to pre-empt that possibility with an order. Athos followed orders and he knew that this one would need to be explicit to keep him in check. He looked up at the man he trusted most in the world and cringed internally at what he was about to do to the man.

"The good news from this morning is that d'Artagnan is back on the royal duty rotation." He waited a moment to allow that to sink in and he noted the look of relief on the young man's face. "I was able to convince the King that you had been set up by somebody wishing to bring ill-repute to the Musketeers."

He watched as Porthos clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder.

"The bad news is that the Cardinal already knew that and I'm truly sorry, but you will have no recourse." He looked up and saw the moment when realisation hit for each of them. Athos stepped forward; his face like thunder.

"He was working with her? He set us up!"

"He didn't admit anything, but, yes, that's my assessment of it."

D'Artagnan stared at him, unsure of how to respond. One did not just walk in and publicly challenge a man of the Cardinal's position and power, no matter how much it was deserved.

Treville slowly rose to his feet. "I am sorry, but I don't see any way for justice for you in this. We have no proof, other than our word against his and it's no secret there is no love lost between us. I would have spared you the knowledge except I believe it is safer for you that you know."

Athos felt his fists clench by his side. How many times would he have to stand in that man's presence and pretend not to know what he had done? As he looked across the room at the men surrounding him, another thought came to mind. The Cardinal would be reminded each time he saw them, that they had foiled his plans. That together, they were stronger than he was. He drew a small measure of comfort from the thought, although a larger part of him was still furious.

The silence in the room stretched on until Treville cleared his throat. "We have another issue to settle as well."

He looked across at Porthos as he spoke and Aramis noted his friend stiffen beside him. After the last piece of news, he felt the hammer was about to fall.

"We have a young man here who was conscripted into Milady's plotting and helped her achieve her plans against the two of you."

Porthos pushed forward before anybody could agree. "'e also told me the truth about what was going on and 'e came to the palace to tell us d'Artagnan was in danger. 'e led us to the inn and we would never 'ave found them if 'e didn't do that!" The passion in the response surprised Athos and he watched the look on Porthos' face go from anger to fear.

"What do you suggest we do about it?" Treville already had a fair idea what the man would suggest, but wanted the others to have a say.

"She got 'er hooks into 'im by using money. To a kid on the streets that's impossible to pass up. Try going to bed without food most nights and see 'ow your choices get real narrow, real quick. 'e didn't know what was in those letters. 'e couldn't read them! And 'e's real sorry about it."

Surprisingly to all of them, it was d'Artagnan who spoke first. "I know first hand how persuasive she could be. She could twist black into white and make you believe it was red. What chance would a child have against her?"

He looked towards Athos and hoped to see something in the man's eyes that wasn't condemnation. Athos refused to look up for some time. When he did, his eyes were moist with unshed tears.

"Perhaps something good can come out of all this. If one person can be saved from going down her path of lies and death, then should we not take that chance? Perhaps there is room for redemption after all."

Porthos grinned at him and rushed across towards him.

"Thank you!"

Aramis tipped his head to one side as he considered Athos' words. It wasn't Marcel's redemption he was talking about.

"Well I have been told that the garrison is a place for second chances. I would have to agree with that assessment."

Treville leaned back against his desk and nodded. "It will be some time yet before Jacques is ready to resume full duties. In the meantime, Marcel is doing an acceptable job. When Jacques returns, he had already asked me about beginning sword training as a recruit. It will be some time before he's ready for that, but there is no harm in training someone to eventually take his place."

Porthos could barely contain himself. He knew it would be years before Jacques was ready to enter as a recruit. In some small way, the legacy Milady had built was being taken apart, one brick at a time. He wished he had a battering ram at his disposal, but he was content to start with one young boy and one brick.

* * *

Athos sat in the courtyard, well after the others had gone to bed. In the days since they returned, he had not had much time alone. The light of the torches flickered and cast shadows across the wall. He was deep in thought when he sensed movement behind him. He turned quickly to see d'Artagnan heading towards him and he frowned. The lad should have been in bed as he was still healing. The bruising on his face had almost faded away, but the stiffness in his shoulder was still apparent to them all. He nodded in greeting as the young man sat down opposite him. D'Artagnan pulled the cloak around himself against the chill of the night air.

Athos stared at the blue cloak as if seeing it for the first time. His dream from weeks earlier wafted through his head at the sight of it. The dream where he was drowning and the blue cloak floated in the distance. He remembered the feeling of safety he attached to it. It was the colour he equated with his brothers.

It suddenly struck him as strange that blue was also the colour he equated with his wife. She had brought him forget-me-nots after her perfect day. His eyes glazed over as he recalled it. It truly had been a perfect day. As much as he had tried to blot it all out, there had once been many happy days.

As he looked across the table at his young protégé, he smiled. The shattered pieces of his past were finally being laid to rest where they belonged and he held out the hope that somewhere in the future, he may be able to truly find peace.

* * *

_A/N: Well folks, that's a wrap! I can't begin to thank you all for your kind comments, reviews, encouragement and ideas. I very much appreciate the reader interaction that has produced a better rounded story than I could have done alone. After my sleep-deprived comment about zombies and MacGyver's duct tape it seems I have struck a nerve with a few of you. I have a stupid sense of humour and I once wrote an "out takes" chapter for another story. It got mixed reviews from those who are as silly as me, to those who thought I had lost the plot. Consider this story complete as is and if you see another chapter pop up, consider yourself pre-warned - it is NOT meant to be taken seriously. _

* * *

_A/N: Take two - it's done :-)  
_


	24. Chapter 24

Consider yourself warned – this is ridiculous and was born from a sleep-deprived couple of nights and a random, silly comment that brought about multiple messages from readers. It in no way reflects on the previous parts of the story and should be ignored altogether if your taste does not run to the idiotic, imbecilic and downright childish. That said, for those of you who choose to run the gauntlet of self-mockery –

If you do not know the Doctor Who universe, firstly, shame on you and secondly, there are a couple of things you need to know. First, the Doctor regenerates every so often and a new actor comes in to play the character. David Tennant (aka Ten) is still my personal favourite. He is Scottish and has a wonderful accent, but for the most part, spoke like he was English. Doctor number Twelve is played by none other than Peter Capaldi (aka the Cardinal). He is also Scottish so I'm not sure what they put in the water up there, but one day I intend to go and look for myself. The TARDIS is his space ship/time machine and looks like a blue police box. He travels with various companions, one of whom was Martha. She was a mite smitten with him, but he was busy being smitten with his ex-companion, Rose. Long story; go and check it out.

Second thing you need to know – I hate zombie movies!

**Chapter Twenty Four**

The TARDIS was humming along nicely and the Doctor felt like it had been far too long since he'd had a real adventure. He sat with his feet propped up on the console and considered where he might stop off next. Before he could make a decision, the TARDIS began bleeping at him. He jumped to his feet and began checking readouts. He scratched his head as he tracked the numbers. They didn't make sense.

"What?"

Suddenly understanding hit and he jumped backwards.

"What! They can't do that!"

He reached around in his pocket until he found what he was looking for. The mobile phone had Martha's number on speed-dial and he grinned at the thought of talking to her again. She would have missed him by now. He heard the line click and he knew she was on the other end before she even spoke.

"Martha Jones! I'm on my way to pick you up. Wear something old, well, olden style, well … never mind, I've got things here you can wear and a sword and probably even a cape, although blue isn't really your best colour and they may just figure out you're a girl so I guess we'll go with the psychic paper, although most of 'em can't read so not really sure if …"

"Doctor! Take a breath!" Martha frowned at the voice on the other end of the phone. His manic rambling was a dead giveaway he was excited about something although she wasn't sure how it applied to her. It wasn't as if she traveled with him anymore.

"Oh, sorry. Just thought that maybe you might like one last spin around the old time loop and come and see something interesting."

In spite of herself, Martha felt the old familiar sense of fun rising within her. If nothing else, the Doctor's childish enthusiasm was always infectious. She sighed as she knew she was probably going to regret this.

"Hmmm , maybe. What did you have in mind? I am busy you know."

"Martha, in case you've forgotten, I can have you back before we even left. Or do I need to get you another tie?"

Martha smiled to herself as she remembered the first time she had met him. When she didn't answer, he went off again on another tangent.

"Good. Because I'm parked outside."

Martha had already figured as much and she opened her front door to see a familiar blue box standing across the street. The ridiculous man hanging against the doorway wore the same loopy grin he seemed to reserve for those days when he just assumed everybody would do as he suggested.

She felt a strange sense of déjà vu at the sight of him and wandered over to the TARDIS.

"And just where are we running off to this time?"

"Well … it's really interesting and I knew you'd want to come and see because you did so well last time… you know with Will Shakespeare, although I know what you mean about his breath, but seriously though, you managed to deal with the whole medieval thing, and not that this is really the same, but it almost is and you should meet Alexandre Dumas and those musketeers of his are just amazing and …"

"Doctor! Hold up a minute. You do know the three musketeers are characters in a book, right?"

"Oh Martha, clearly you need a close up view. They are not just characters in a book. They are real flesh and blood."

The Doctor tugged at his sleeve as if checking a watch. "And right now, they need me. I mean, they need us!"

Martha rolled her eyes at him, but found herself stepping into the TARDIS anyway. The feeling of coming home never ceased to amaze her and she smiled to herself.

"Hello, old girl."

Before she knew it, the Doctor had spun a few dials and flicked a couple of things and the time vortex sucked them in.

"So, why do the three musketeers need our help?"

"Well, actually there's four of them, well, five if you count their captain, well there's a whole lot more than that, but it's the five we need to go and find. You know, I've told you before there are some points that are fixed in time and can't be moved, well they can be, but they really can't be, or more like they really _shouldn't_ be, but you of all people understand the whole timey-wimey thing and how time sometimes gets caught up in itself and that causes problems and then …"

"Doctor! What do we need to do?"

The Doctor sighed at her as he noted her serious face. Just because she was a doctor, did not mean she understood all things Doctor! To be fair, she'd kept up with most of the things he'd thrown at her and he continued on.

"There's a crack in the timeline. And something has bled through from somewhere else that shouldn't be there. If we don't fix it, it will only get bigger and consume the timeline."

"So it's serious then and not just a trip so you can go and play swords?"

"Martha! I don't play with swords! Well, there was this one time … but that was to save the planet! I had no choice." He looked down at his hand and smiled. "It's a fightin' hand!"

"Now, we have one more place to stop before we get there."

Suddenly the Doctor pulled a lever and the TARDIS came to a stop. The Doctor wandered over to the door and pulled it open. Standing on the other side was a man with a really bad mullet. Martha watched as he stared at the thing that had just materialised in front of him and seemed not to be fazed by it. He ran a hand over the door and took a peek inside. Apparently curiosity seemed to override fear because he quickly walked inside.

"Waaaaait for it." Martha muttered to herself. There was always some variation of the same comment. It's bigger on the inside. How did you do that? What is this thing? When it didn't come, she took a closer look at the guy who had just walked in. He seemed intent on examining the interior of the box he had just entered and was not in the least bit confused by it. He didn't seem to notice when the TARDIS took off again.

The Doctor walked over and stuck out a hand. "I've always wanted to meet you. I'm the Doctor."

Mullet-boy stuck out a hand in response. "Ah, the name's MacGyver, or most people call me Mac."

"I know. That's brilliant!" The Doctor grinned at him and turned to Martha. "I've got MacGyver in my TARDIS. This guy doesn't need a sonic screwdriver. Although I'm pretty sure he could build one of his own."

Martha stared at the man in front of her. She knew he looked familiar, but suddenly realised why. "You're Richard Dean Anderson! I've seen you on Stargate! But … older."

Mac frowned at her. "Ahh, you must have me mixed up with someone else. The name's Mac."

"Martha, this guy can build a nuclear bomb out of paperclips. He can design a water treatment plant out of paddlepop sticks. They test out his stuff all the time on Mythbusters! He can … "

Suddenly the Doctor spun back towards him. "You did bring your duct tape didn't you? Because we are going to need duct tape. Humpty Dumpty needs to be put back together."

Both of them stared at him as if he were crazy, although Martha at least knew that somewhere in there was some semblance of reality. She just hadn't figured out which bit yet.

"Please tell me you have your duct tape and we don't have to go back for it?"

MacGyver reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of tape. "Don't leave home without it. But what are you …"

"Excellent! I knew you wouldn't let us down. Now we are almost there." He pulled at a long brown lever and each of them noted the TARDIS pulled to a stop. The Doctor strode across and pulled open the door. Martha simply pointed towards the door.

"He expects us to follow."

Mac shook his head and figured he might as well see what was going on. The two of them walked out into bright sunshine and noted a man standing staring at them. He was wearing black leather and looked very angry.

"You cannot leave that thing there! It's blocking the King's roadway."

Martha looked behind and noted a carriage was stopped in the middle of the road. The cranky man was gesturing towards the TARDIS.

"You do know who I am, don't you?" he demanded when the Doctor didn't seem in a hurry to respond.

"Not really. Although you do look familiar. Now that I look at you, there is a certain something about you, but I can't quite put my finger on it." The Doctor squinted at the man glaring back at him.

"Move your contraption out of the way! Now!" The Cardinal glared at him before summoning two red guards. They had swords drawn and pointed at the strange man in front of him.

"Move it!"

The Doctor turned and frowned at Martha. "I was sure this was the right road. They should be along at any time now."

Suddenly they all heard the unmistakable sound of horses coming towards them. The Doctor turned on his heel with a broad grin. "We were a smidge early."

Each of them watched as the strangest thing rode into a sight. There was no mistaking the musketeer uniform. Four men rode alongside a fifth who looked decidedly … well … wrong!

As they got closer, Martha found herself wanting to laugh. It was an egg! There was an egg riding a horse! The egg had multiple cracks through its shell and looked miserable. The others were doing their best not to laugh. As they drew closer, the Doctor nudged MacGyver forward.

"This is why you are here. Humpty needs putting back together and what better thing to do it with than duct tape?"

Mac looked at the strange man and frowned. He didn't drink so he was convinced he was dreaming. The strangest dream he'd had in a while, but hey, why not?

"Athos, you know that you need to be put back together. Before you go spilling your yoke all over the road." Aramis pulled alongside his friend and grinned.

Athos glared at them all while trying not to crack his face any further. Bits of shell were already flaking off like dandruff.

D'Artagnan climbed down off his horse and headed for the man standing in the road, staring at Athos. He had to admit, his friend looked pretty funny. He noted the man had some kind of silver thing in his hands and he nodded towards it.

"What's that?"

"The most useful thing on the planet."

The Doctor coughed lightly behind him. "I wouldn't go that far, but it is pretty handy. Now you need to get to work on him because we've got another problem to take care of. And Martha here needs to get back to … what was it you needed to get back for exactly?"

Martha wasn't paying any attention any more. She was too busy eyeing off the gorgeous man still sitting on his horse. For his part, Porthos was staring right back.

"Oh puleeze! You got Will Shakespeare drooling all over you and writing sonnets and now it's a musketeer! Martha, you do know this isn't a romance novel. Right?"

"Of course. This is all so real." Martha didn't shift her eyes from where she was staring.

"Just checking that you hadn't gotten lost on me."

Meanwhile the Cardinal had given up that the strange group was ever going to pay attention and he ordered his guards to ease his carriage around them. By the time the Doctor noticed he had gone, he was still shaking his head. Nobody seemed to notice that the man had disappeared from inside his carriage until it reached Paris. The scriptwriters were very peeved at having to find a viable excuse for his absence from the second season. Personally, he blamed the strange man in the blue box!

The Doctor nodded as he considered the man he had only briefly met. "Interesting man. Rather handsome fellow. Although that tuft of fluff on his chin needs to go."

Mac was standing beside Athos' horse, wondering if this dream was ever going to come to an end. The youngest of the group of friends reached over and grabbed a roll of duct tape out of his hand. He pulled out a section and felt the strength in it. He stuck a piece against Athos and laughed as he pulled it away, along with a whole lot of hair. Eggs weren't supposed to have hair!

Before he knew what was happening, both d'Artagnan and MacGyver had wrapped oodles of duct tape around him and over his head, reaching down to his saddle and holding him securely onto his horse. They stood back to admire their work and Mac raised a hand in the air. When he got no response, he pointed to his hand with his other one.

"You are supposed to raise your hand and slap mine."

"Why?" d'Artagnan frowned at him.

"Because it's the cool thing to do. Don't leave me hanging here."

Athos sucked in a breath at the comment. Well, he would have if it were not for the duct tape over his mouth. D'Artagnan raised his hand and Mac high-fived him.

"See? Now that's cool."

As d'Artagnan lowered his hand, he felt that his hand was now warm, not cool.

Suddenly the Doctor came dancing over towards them. Maybe it was the strange boots he was wearing that made his feet react strangely. He pointed towards Aramis.

"I heard that you are pretty handy with a musket."

"Handy? He's the best marksman in the regiment!" The pride in d'Artagnan's voice made the Doctor smile.

"Well you'd best get that thing loaded. You've got some hunting to do and it will be here any minute now."

Treville looked at the strange man who was now ordering his men around. He was about to object when they all noticed something coming along the road towards them. It was still well in the distance, but it was definitely moving towards them.

The Doctor moved closer to Aramis. "You are going to want to load that weapon, rather quickly. And get him to load his too, in case you miss." He pointed towards Porthos who was currently staring doe-eyed at Martha. He snapped his fingers towards them.

"Oi! You two. Time for that later. Not now. Saving the day kind of thing needed instead."

Martha glared at him. "How original. No time for romance because there is always something more important to do. Like save the world. Unless of course it's you and Rose saving the world together. In which case, by all means, stare longingly into each other's eyes. And lean up against a wall and cry."

The Doctor looked at her, utterly clueless.

"I saw the DVD, remember?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, but turned back towards Aramis. " Loaded yet? Running out of time! Zombie coming!"

"What is a zombie?" Porthos didn't like this man who had made his love-interest upset. He spoke funny. And dressed funny. And walked funny. And what was the problem with his hair?

"That … is a zombie!" He pointed towards the thing shuffling slowly towards them. It looked a little like the woman they had buried a few days ago. Except that was impossible.

"When it gets close enough, shoot it. In the head!"

Athos tried to fidget on his horse, but the strange rope he had been trussed up with made it impossible to move.

"You didn't answer. What is a zombie?" Treville stared at the strange man while trying to keep an eye on the even stranger apparition coming down the road.

"Well, according to Wikipedia, a zombie is an animated corpse that has been raised by magical means such as witchcraft. Alternatively, zombies are fictional creatures, typically depicted as mindless, re-animated human corpses, sometimes animals, with a hunger for human flesh, regularly encountered in horror and fantasy themed works."

Martha rolled her eyes and she noted that Athos simultaneously did the same thing. It was the only part of him still able to move.

"In other words… shoot it!"

Aramis already had his musket raised and was aiming it at the vile creature shuffling towards them. He had shot Milady once already and had no problem shooting her again. In fact, he was enjoying himself. Not that he would tell Athos that or he would really crack it.

He sighted along the length of the musket and waited until the thing coming closer was almost staring him in the eyes. He still wasn't sure what it was, but it needed to die. The script said so and he knew there was no arguing with the script. He'd learned early on that if he did that, d'Artagnan got more air time. The kid might be young and somewhat good-looking, but really? He could speak multiple languages, although strangely, French wasn't one of them. He'd been trying out that weird Scottish dialect lately and had decided to give it up since he got slapped in the face a lot. But seriously, what did d'Artagnan have that he didn't? Why did the kid get the focus of the stories? He frowned a little until he remembered something else. The kid got beaten up more. Those crazy fanfic writers seemed to like hurting him! Maybe Porthos was right and they weren't right in the head.

He suddenly heard the others shouting his name and he realised the thing, the zombie, whatever it was, was almost on top of him. He could smell its breath and he gagged. If nothing else, it was enough to throw off any kind of romantic thoughts Athos may have been hiding towards his newly-dead wife. He squeezed the trigger and watched as his musket ball smashed into what remained of its head. Grey stuff splattered towards him and he looked annoyed. His uniform had been clean and now it would need dry-cleaning!

The Doctor looked around at the group and nodded, satisfied that his job was done. The breach in the timeline had been healed and there would be no more zombies running rampant across 17th century France. Of course, the vampires and clockwork monsters were a whole other issue, but zombies just did not belong there. He still wasn't sure how she came to be zombified, but he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with insane fans. There was no dealing with them. They scared him! He'd seen what they did to _him_ in their stories and he had enough trouble dealing with them in his own fandom, let alone somebody else's wading pool.

He grabbed MacGyver by the arm and pulled him towards the TARDIS.

"Time to go, Wonderboy. They need you back at Stargate Command. But first, you need a haircut!"

Martha smothered a laugh, before looking back wistfully at Porthos. She found herself whistling a tune as she slowly walked towards the TARDIS. She realised she was never going to get the chance to do it again and she turned around towards the group and burst into song.

Let it go, let it go  
And I'll rise like the break of dawn.  
Let it go, let it go  
That perfect girl is gone!

Here I stand  
In the light of day.  
Let the storm rage on,  
The cold never bothered me anyway!

The Doctor came sprinting towards her and clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Martha! That song was outlawed across the entire universe. I think it was instigated by the Parents' Union after most of their members went crazy from the never-ending repetition of it. It was on the charts for a hundred and seventy two years before finally being banned. I intentionally skipped most of that part of Earth history because of it. Please, don't ever do that to me again!"

Treville rounded up his men and pointed them back in the direction of Paris. He needed a drink. Or six! He watched as the very strange trio climbed into a blue box and it suddenly disappeared from view.

He looked at his men. "I am not reporting any of this. Agreed?"

Each of them nodded in agreement. "As if anyone would believe a word of it anyway."

Aramis looked across at where Athos was still duct-taped to his horse.

"At least they put you back together. Sort of."

D'Artagnan turned towards the camera and winked. "You do know this isn't the end don't you? Zombies don't die easily!"

* * *

_My sincerest apologies to the BBC, Disney and anybody else I have forgotten. If you got this far, I promise to behave from now on. Thank you for indulging a silly idea shared by those who shall remain nameless to protect the guilty!  
_


End file.
